


La vie en Noir

by evilblackbunny



Series: Dualité Noir [1]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Flashbacks, Henry needs a nap, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Period Typical Bigotry, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sammy needs a hug but won't accept one, Self-Harm, Sexual Harassment, Slow Burn, Suicide, Time Loop, author isn't a turd and will give trigger warnings, painful flashbacks, time loop abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 07:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 122,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23347939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evilblackbunny/pseuds/evilblackbunny
Summary: Henry has survived hundreds of loops, only being able to break from the pattern in small ways. The cycle only edged closer to yet another unending sepia nightmare, with limited signs of progress towards escape.Then, Sammy said his name.
Relationships: Sammy Lawrence/Henry Stein
Series: Dualité Noir [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899091
Comments: 497
Kudos: 712





	1. Un

**Author's Note:**

> Some plot bunnies just don’t go away. So, here we are!
> 
> Now the hard stuff. Fair warning: I’m well aware of what the book for BATIM says about Sammy. While I’m not writing him as some saint, I’m taking it from an 11 to… maybe a 3. 4 at worst. Considering that book Sammy and game Sammy don’t feel like the same man? I think I’m safe to tone it down.
> 
> Please take the tags seriously. That said, I’ll give you a warning when things get bad, okay?

**The Prophet speaks.**

/

  
Funny. Henry had heard somewhere that doing the same thing over and over while expecting different results each time was the definition was insanity.  
  
Two-hundred and twenty-five iterations and he was as sane as the day he’d stepped through the door. If he had enough sense to lose his mind, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.  
  
... scratch that. It’d still be bad. He just wouldn’t understand how much so.  
  
Henry knew the names behind the monsters. He just couldn’t get through to anyone under all that ink. Jack was more interested in hiding the valve than talking. Sammy was always going on about his lord, then later on ready to take Henry down while delirious. Susie might change her tone or switch some words, but she never came back enough for him to have time to get through to her. Bertrum never responded to anything outside of having his robotic limbs severed. Polk didn’t slow an inch, no matter how much Henry would shout his name. Allison and Tom were starting to deviate, but only with longer pauses and a slower tap of his axe.  
  
Buddy… well. He was sorry about Buddy. Nothing changed for Buddy. Susie always wrenched him backwards into Hell and mutilated him beyond belief. Hundreds of times and it hurt the same way each time. It shocked the cartoonist he could feel much at all after so many times in this place.  
  
But, just like he never got used to falling or the pain of losing Buddy Boris, he never got used to Sammy, knocking him out with a dustpan.  
  
The world swam back into view. Henry was used to the tight ropes and that calm voice. Even if that calm had an undercurrent of madness bubbling underneath.  
  
“There we go, nice and tight. We wouldn't want our sheep roaming away now, would we?” That voice, half whisper half threat, murmured from beneath the Bendy mask. “No, we wouldn't. I must admit I am... honored you came all the way down here to visit me. It almost makes what I'm about to do seem... cruel.” Sammy eyed the axe before setting it down. Funny how he almost seemed sad about this decision to turn Henry into a sacrificial lamb. “But the believers must honor their savior. I must have him notice me.”  
  
Henry stared in disinterest. Being tied to a pole and hearing a madman with his sermon about the Ink Demon grew boring after so many times. He knew it word for word, movement for movement, from finishing the knot to the spirit fingers when the crawling started.  
  
“Wait.” Sammy leaned close enough that Henry could smell the ink fumes. How strange to say the prophet had a scent that had cemented itself into Henry’s mind; pine and charcoal wafting from underneath the ink. “You look familiar to me. That face...” Sammy tapped the side of his mask under an eye, head tilting slightly.  
  
Henry braced himself for the horror to come. When did horror become mundane? He surmised roughly twelve loops in. Time for the sermon. Time for sheep and sleep.  
  
Sammy lowered his hand and braced himself on his knees with both hands. “It’s… Henry. Isn’t it?”  
  
That was new. The cartoonist blinked and nodded. “Hello, Sammy Lawrence.”  
  
The prophet reeled back as if struck. “I...” He huffed a chuckle and lowered his arms. “That man is dead, so long as this inky abyss is my shell.” The Prophet's voice swelled with passion, arms flung wide. “Which shall soon be no more, for the creator that abandoned my lord has returned! My lord will soon notice me.”  
  
The fractured Bendy mask once more consumed all that Henry could see.  
  
“He will set us free.” Sammy turned with sloshing footsteps and left out the side door to a booth. The microphone clicked and screeched in static. “Sheep sheep sheep, it’s time for sleep. Rest your head, it’s time for bed. In the morning you may wake, or in the morning you’ll be dead. Hear me, Lord Bendy! Behold, my sacrifice for you! This tender sheep who had a hand in your creation!” Sammy’s passion turned to a seething, giddy roar. “Seek your vengeance, and free me, I beg of you!”  
  
The walls pulsed in rings of black, and rafters shuddered from the thundering, unsteady gait of Bendy.  
  
“Wait, my lord! I am your prophet! I am your-” The stricken panic of Sammy’s voice wasn’t lost in the fray. Neither was his scream of agony as Bendy did what he always had.  
  
Henry counted down in his head for when the ropes would give. It was different each time, but he had a time frame for it. He got to ten, expecting twelve, and ran for the exit after snatching the axe from the support beam on his way out.  
  
He knew the path; run from Bendy, find Buddy Boris, then Susie, loose Buddy Boris, Alison and Tom, boat hands, Sammy, The End, Joey. Rinse and repeat.  
  
But… _Sammy_ broke the pattern this time, not him. While Henry hoped for a change of pace, some glimmer of hope, he wouldn’t hold his breath. Maybe next loop. In this place, there was always a next loop.

/


	2. Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prophet remembers.

**The Prophet remembers.**

/

Sammy awoke not long ago, but his day was starting with so much interesting work ahead. According to one overexcited searcher, there had been an intrusion from above. Someone had come to the studio to visit, it seemed. Of course Sammy was going to make a trip to the higher levels.  
  
 _Another_ thing that made today so interesting? Someone had started the ink machine. It was possible something connected the two events, but who was he to say? If he were fortunate, his lord would be gracious enough to explain.  
  
A trill of anticipation traced up Sammy’s back; Today may be the day Bendy set them free. Perhaps the intruder was the last piece to the puzzle that was the studio. Sammy pulled himself back from euphoria by tapping each of his fingers to his thumb. Index, middle, ring, in time with a beat only he could hear.  
  
His delight could wait; still much work to do.  
  
Starting with the Bendy cutout on the far wall! How it had landed on its side was a mystery. He’d prefer to blame gravity than some careless searcher or lost one. The wonderful reminder of his savior was so light in his hands, a feeling so familiar to him; arrange cutouts for his lord to better see the flock.  
  
The ink man stood from his crouch, humming softly to himself. His gaze wandered around the deep supply closet, idly counting crates to take stock of just how much bacon soup remained—  
  
Wait. What was that wedged between two soup cans?  
  
Sammy tucked the cutout under his arm and plucked the object from its place, giving a questioning grunt. Nothing special. A small, tattered book sat on a crate. Cardboard cover, ink splattered on the spine. The wording had long faded away from age, but the pages were in fine shape. Prying the book open with a forceful thumb, the prophet hummed at the scrawl on the front page. “Property of--”  
  
 _“-Henry Stein. Our lead animator and my dear friend.” Joey’s grip on Sammy’s shoulder was so light as to be hardly there as he steered the lanky man to the younger man sitting at a table. Joey walked away from the musician and clapped a hand to the shorter mans shoulder, his grin widening. “Henry, this is Sammy Lawrence. He will be our music director.”  
  
Sammy blinked. This was Henry, then? Shorter than Joey, but he had a sturdier build. Tan, freckles, auburn hair, glasses. The musician knew cute. He wrote music designed for things dubbed cute. It irked him that Henry was cute. He said nothing, but stuck out his hand to shake.  
  
Henry took it. His grip __was warm and firm, not the death grip Joey’s had been._ _  
  
Speaking of Drew. “All right! You two have fun getting some stuff percolating.” Joey quickly left their sight off to do who knew what.  
  
Henry cleared his throat. “I’m not much of a talker.”  
  
“Mm. Fine by me.” The blond peered down at the cartoonist, barely cracking a wry smile. “Anything to show me? Give me an idea of just what I’m getting into?”  
  
Henry nodded and offered his small sketchbook to Sammy. “Some early sketches. These are the ones Joey thinks will work the best.”  
  
Sammy fought a scoff but took the small book. He flipped to a random page and found a… rather adorable little imp. A black body, white face and gloves, the brightest smile. Childlike. The words __**Bendy the Dancing Demon**_ _above it in large neat print. “This is our star?” He flipped the page to find a different creature, dubbed_ _ **Boris the Wolf**_ _, holding a clarinet.  
  
Henry nodded, a brow raised. “Any input?”  
  
“He’s charming.” He closed the book with one hand and passed it back to the man. “But who’d ever believe this little guy was a demon?”  
  
Henry took the book with a shrug and a soft smile. “Give it a week and Joey’ll have something.”  
  
Sammy chuckled. “A week?”  
  
“The quick and dirty.” The younger man pulled off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt. “And be ready for rewrites.”  
  
The musician gave an exasperated sigh and tilted his head back. “Fantastic.”_  
  
Sammy’s head met the wall behind him and jolted back into reality. The contact made him jump and drop the small book, and he sucked in a ragged breath with arms raised ready to strike the unseen foe that hurt his head.  
  
But what he had relived… That… was him. The _real_ him. He’d known his name and tidbits of his past, but he lost much of his true self in the ink! This booklet was a mote of truth in the foray of black!  
  
Also, Sammy recognized those voices. He’d heard them in that little flashback. He’d known them at one point. He’d- the image of that friendly artist from his flashback, older and tied to a support beam, flashed in his mind.  
  
The cutout slipped slightly as his grip grew slack. Sammy’s brow furrowed behind his mask. This… this was more than a simple case of déjà vu. Sammy had brought pain to that man so many times.  
  
The friendly man was Henry Stein. He was the lead cartoonist when this place wasn’t hell on earth. He left a year after the studio started up. There was a fight with Joey—the name alone made his jaw tighten and his thoughts rage- and Henry had left them all here. Left Sammy here. Henry was… was…  
  
Sammy dropped the cutout and grasped the side of his head from the pain of remembering all of _that_. It wasn’t even that much, but it hurt like splinters in his brain! It wasn’t stopping, growing deeper and harder to block out. The memories even muted the whispers of the ink!  
  
Then… he was in the future, in the past, on a loop that ended with him standing over Henry. Henry, on the ground and staring up at him. Sammy could feel the axe in his hands as he raised it to bring down-  
  
\- he was on the ground, a blade biting into his head. Then came blackness darker than the ink.  
  
In the present, the ink man shuddered at the very real memory of an axe breaking into his skull and then… fading. Back to the ink. He’d wake up back in his cot within the Lost Harbor when he sensed an intrusion from above and had it confirmed by a searcher. The memories and the pain ceased, but the prophet remained hunched, hands clasping his head from the shear pain of information overload.  
  
All right. Okay. _Shit_.  
  
Calming himself, Sammy stood and stared at the cutout on the floor. If this happened more than once, why did he come back to this same route? How many times had he done this? It felt like… more than twice? Less than a thousand? Enough times to know this wasn’t the first.  
  
Plucking the cutout and book from the floor and making his way to the sigil on the wall, he spoke. “Sheep, sheep, sheep, it’s time for sleep.”  
  
“Hey! Hold on!”  
  
Sammy sped up just a touch at the sound of Henry’s voice and quickly disappeared into the wall.  
  
If memory served him well, for once in this place, Henry was going to mill around the music department for a bit, then he’d have a chance to speak with the man. He’d get answers from Henry himself. Obviously, if they both would have to repeat this scenario, then there had to be a greater reason.  
  
/  
  
Henry hummed quietly as Sammy was nowhere to be found. So many loops ago, the ink man had deviated from the pattern without prompting from him. After so many tries and getting nowhere, Henry decided to just… press on. As always. It could be a fluke or progress, but standing around staring at a wall wasn’t going to answer anything.  
  
At least swollen Jack was kind enough to lob the valve his way instead of playing keep-away with it. That was nice. Henry left the poor thing in one piece as thanks.  
  
The cartoonist saw no need to waste time and pressed the button. Sammy’s static-laced voice purred out of the little speaker yet somehow filled the music room. _"He appears from the shadows to rain his sweet blessings upon me. The figure of ink that shines in the darkness. I see you, my savior. I pray you hear me. Those old songs, yes, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me. And I will be swept into your final loving embrace. But love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?”_  
  
Henry counted down to when he knew he’d hear Sammy speak from the projection booth.  
  
“Henry, can I get an amen?”  
  
That… was different. The cartoonist turned, but as always found no one there. Henry entered the music room to find the projector running already. No music, but the mid-point of Tombstone Picnic was playing on the screen. He didn’t need to steel himself; he knew Sammy was up there. He could feel that burning stare against the back of his head the moment he stepped through the threshold.

“It _is_ Henry, isn't it?” Sammy stood where he always did, but leaned over the railing with folded hands. He had no face beneath the Bendy mask, but his body language screamed ‘quizzical’.  
  
He nodded. “Sammy Lawrence.”  
  
“Indeed. It seems that you are haunting me.”  
  
Henry squinted with pursed lips. “How so?”  
  
Sammy said nothing but gripped the railing and hopped it in one heavy thump onto the music department floor.  
  
The cartoonist raised his axe.  
  
The prophet raised his hands. “I’m not here to fight, little sheep. I wish to speak with you.”  
  
Well, that was new. Henry nodded but didn’t lower his axe.  
  
“I had believed it was all déjà vu, and it had always correlated with you. Always focusing back onto you.” The Prophet steepled his fingers, head held high. “You’ve been here dozens of times. Every time, you play my tape-” he motioned with a hand to the recorder. “-and every time, I strike you with the dustpan.”  
  
Henry adjusted his grip. “Still not sure how you knock me out with that thing.”  
  
Sammy huffed a chuckle at the idea of the cheap aluminum implement crumpling after meeting the back of Henry’s head and having no effect. “Only the finest for this place. But, the matter at hand.” Sammy lowered his head a tad. “This isn’t the first time we’ve done this.”  
  
“You’ve said.”  
  
“You’ve been here, doing this same process, the same insane path, knowing how it will go. Over and over, like a runaway carousel.”  
  
“ _Yes_.”  
  
The Prophet paused. “Why?”  
  
The cartoonist sighed and released the head of the axe to swing freely. “I’m trapped. I’ve done this route well over two hundred times. So have you. So has everyone I’ve met in this place.” Henry let out a sigh, bracing his hands over the end of the axe, the blade between his feet. “I don’t know why you could remember.”  
  
“Two _hundred_?” The absurdity of it made the musician laugh, a hand to his mask. “You _must_ be crazy. I’ve only been through a dozen or so.”  
  
“ _You_ have. But you can count the tallies on the wall by the exit and tell me I’m wrong then.” If he ever got a hold of the seeing tool again. He'd lost it after the second loop, but not before seeing enough to know what hell looked like.  
  
Sammy shook his head. “Oh, what a test this is! My faith can’t be shaken, but my curiosity is _tingling_.” He wiggled the fingers of one hand, a delighted lilt to his speech. “Enlighten me, little sheep. What could have brought you here?”  
  
Henry scowled. “An old friend invited here me. This ends the same way each time I go through it. Enter the studio, start the machine-”  
  
Sammy closed the distance in a looming stride. “ _You_ started the machine?”  
  
The cartoonist didn’t flinch. “Yes. Before you ask, I have no choice. I was stuck in the upper levels for days trying to figure something else out. I’ve got finding and setting up the offerings down to three minutes flat.”  
  
“Then...” The prophet paused with a giddy noise. “It is fate.”  
  
Henry gripped the axe and adjusted his feet. “How is any of this fate?”  
  
“It’s obvious, isn’t it? The man that created Bendy, back to where it all began.” The ink man flung his arms wide at the music room, head back in elation. “Someone sent you to restore Lord Bendy to his full glory so he will set us free!” His head snapped down to stare at Henry. “And I, as his prophet, will assist you in this endeavor.”  
  
The cartoonist glanced at the closest exit and lifted the axe to sit blade out on one shoulder. “No. I’m good. I’ve done this enough to know what I’m doing.”  
  
“You may have followed this inky path countless times-”  
  
“Two hundred and fifty- _one_.”  
  
“-but these creaking walls have been my domicile for decades. These lost ones, my companions! And I can tell when my Lord is near, being so very… _intimate_ with the ink myself.” Sammy once more violated Henry’s personal space. “Allow me to help you end this, so we may be free.”  
  
Henry sidestepped the man and glared. “What’s stopping you from sacrificing me to the Ink Demon when you get a chance?”  
  
Sammy tensed at the accusation. “An axe to the skull a dozen times will open more than your eyes.”  
  
“You didn’t know the first time?”  
  
“I didn’t know it _was_ the first time. A dozen times repeating the same steps as my dreams woke something inside of me. The déjà vu wasn’t what it seemed. I remembered you, just for a few seconds...” He referred to Henry with an upturned hand. “And you? You fight the searchers, play my song, turn the pump on, allow me to strike you down and tie you up.” A cruel sliver entered his voice. “I’m starting to think you _like_ it.”  
  
“I like it about as much as I like seeing Tom cut you down.”  
  
The prophet flinched at the memory, quick as the flap of a moths wings. “Ah. So, the one armed wolf has a name other than Boris? Interesting… but unimportant.” The prophet circled Henry slowly, mask always to him with hands behind his back. “Be on your way, little sheep. Your shepherd shall be watching from the shadows.”

"Why not just come with me?"

The ink man chuckled. "The believers need their prophet to guide them. They appreciate a... hands on approach. My duties stretch beyond following you, but be assured, you're being watched by the keenest eyes of the flock." Sammy folded his hands behind his back and nodded Henry's way. "Tend your creations, little sheep."  
  
Henry frowned, but gave a nod to the ink man. He saw no way to talk Sammy out of this idea of his.  
  
The cartoonist left the music department. The prophet stayed behind, watching.  
  
Truth be told, Henry had only known Sammy Lawrence, the famous composer for many a beloved cartoon, for a year before he had left the studio. Sammy, a sharp and sarcastic man who enjoyed watching Henry work in his spare time. While neutral to most and hellbent on his melodies, the man could appreciate an artist when he saw one.  
  
The composer had been… handsome. Anyone could see that back in the day. Slender and blond with an aquiline nose, a tension in him that made him seem ready to snap at the wrong word or noise. He conducted like a general commanding a battalion, and he enjoyed every second of his work. At least when he wasn’t being dragged away from it for something Joey had to say that couldn’t wait.  
  
 _That_ wasn’t Sammy. Not the keen and critical man he’d known for a short year. This… groveling sycophant ink man was _not_ the sharp and determined composer Sammy Lawrence. Not completely. Not yet. But if this change to the pattern was anything to go by, then Henry would continue to help the lost souls in this place find freedom. Sammy would be at the top of that long list.

/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates every Friday [hopefully].


	3. Trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prophet has made a mistake.

**The Prophet has made a mistake.**  
  
/  
  
He’d failed.  
  
He knew this because he had woken in the room he had within the Lost Harbor, as always after each failed loop.  
  
It was the two hundred and seventy-fifth loop for Henry, but the fiftieth loop for Sammy. Twenty-fifth with the prophet trying to help the cartoonist.  
  
Still trapped in this studio. Still trapped in this abysmal body. Still at square one.  
  
Sammy was… honestly exasperated by all of this. Finding out he was in a loop wasn’t enough. Assisting the cartoonist wasn’t enough. What else could he do? What more could he even give?  
  
He grumbled and lifted himself from the cot he’d been sleeping on. Time to gather his bearings and figure what had gone wrong this time.  
  
Flexing his hands to get feeling back into them, he tapped them in a familiar rhythm. He touched finger to thumb carefully. Index, middle ring… pinkie. Making a baffled noise, Sammy looked down. He stared stunned at his hands and found them shaking but intact. His pinkies were back. But why?  
  
He had done nothing new in the path he followed Henry down! Standing, he pulled some paper and a dip pen from the battered desk and took a seat on a crate.  
  
Okay. Time to work this out. If he wrote it down, he _might_ parse out where he was failing. Why just the missing fingers? Why only one thing and not all at once?  
  
Sammy mapped out what he’d learned. Henry entered the studio. He’d always fall through the floor. Something would cut Henry down. Henry popped back up in moments, like someone turned back the reel of reality and doing so erased the carnage. Alice, losing the Boris clone, theme park, clone fight, Allison and Tom, Sammy not attacking Henry but helping him, Henry crossing the ink river out of sight, and…  
  
Sammy would wake up in this same little room. He settled his chin in his palm, pen tapping in thought.  
  
What wasn’t he doing? Was helping Henry by keeping the searchers and lost ones at bay not enough? The prophet let out a hoarse sigh. This wasn’t good. What now? What could he do this time that could help his lord now? Help Henry help Bendy... but...  
  
His Lord was the only thing that never seemed to change, no matter what either of them did. Whether Sammy was watching Henry from the dark or running behind him to make sure he didn’t fall down a hole, Bendy was still… himself. His lord, the Ink Demon, silent save for grinding growls, indecipherable moans, and uneven footfalls. Nothing he or Henry did could appease Bendy. Nothing could break through and change a thing with the horned beast. His grin never faltered, his wrath never cooled.  
  
Nothing worked… and that burned Sammy up inside. Mismatched fists had splattered him, his neck snapped by painfully sharp claws. He gave, and he gave and… back to the Lost Harbor.  
  
A repulsive idea curled in his mind. How long had he been at the mercy of the demon? How much did he give to have nothing back? Did… oh dear lord, did Bendy even know all Sammy had done for him? Sacrifices! Song! His own fingers at one point, lopped off and tossed into a summoning circle only to receive nothing! Nothing but small stumps at the ends of his hands, unable to play the instruments he had loved, unable to make pleasing music for his lord.  
  
Sammy tapped his pen to the paper, muted brows pinched. The thought occurred to him, the hushed whispers of the ink pushed to near silence as a sad little idea broke through the darkness.  
  
If Henry were here to help Bendy, why did Bendy want to hurt Henry?  
  
Lucid enough, Sammy grit his jaw and pushed up his mask to pinch the bridge of his nose. Er, what remained of it. It made little sense for Bendy to attack Henry when Henry was actively trying to fix all of this and free them. Hadn’t that been the point? To help Bendy to set them free? Why was everything met with cruelness? Wasn’t freedom what Bendy wanted? Unless…  
  
A sharp pain shot through the ink man’s head as he remembered. Fragments of past deaths- Tom taking an axe to his head. The Projectionist ripping him in half. Bendy backhanding him into a wall-  
  
Wait. Sammy hissed in pain and grasped his head in both hands, pen held firm. His back hunched as he relived it all, frozen but feeling every second and movement.  
  
 _“Betrayed! Abandoned!” The axe flying madly at the dark shape before him. “I trusted you! I gave you everything.... and you left me to rot!... Why? WHY!?”  
  
A dark shape dodging and striking back with a pipe. "Come here and put your face in my axe!"  
  
He swung wildly, giving chase with long strides, voice split into dozens. "He said he'd save me. He said he'd set me free! Now I have nothing! NOTHING!"  
  
The pipe made contact and shattered the Bendy mask. Shame and terror pulled threads of sanity taught, tugging them to the point of breaking as Sammy covered his face. “No! Don’t look at me! Stay away!”  
  
But the shape drew too close, and Sammy hefted it by the throat. "HA! You lied to me. You said I'd be free. Well, I'm going to free you now.” He tossed the shape to the ground, and the axe went up. “Free your head right off your shoulders! Sheep, sheep, sheep... it's time for... sleep." _  
  
_And in the instant between bringing the blade down and someone driving a different blade into his head, Sammy saw not the dark, skeletal Bendy on the ground, but Henry, hands raised in surrender. A clap of lightning before it plunged him into blackness deeper than the ink._  
  
The prophet gasped, fused mouth wide and desperate for air he didn’t even need. The pain eased into a dull ache as the fog cleared for one last thing, a memory older than those he’d just come down from… Bendy crushing and abandoning him in the room where Sammy had meant to sacrifice Henry. Over and over. Hundreds of times like it were a game.  
  
Hands ceased gripping head as the cruel truth bloomed in his brain.  
  
What if… Bendy didn’t want anyone to go free? Wanted to keep everyone trapped down here in a sepia-toned Hell. For what? Amusement? Sport?  
  
What if… Bendy enjoyed hurting him? His prophet? A creature who wouldn’t fight back?  
  
But Henry… Henry was kind. Sammy had seen that kindness while watching from the shadows. A soft-spoken man with flat humor and an enduring desire to help. To find the lost ones and try to bring their humanity back to them, even as they stared with mournful eyes and spoke of nothing. The cartoonist worked to find new ways to reach those almost utterly lost to the ink. To give everything he had in himself to set them free-  
  
Sammy dropped his pen.  
  
How could he be so blind? How in this inked hell could Sammy, the prophet himself, not see the truth to this?  
  
Bendy cared neither way what happened to him. He never had. He wasn’t able.  
  
But Henry… The longer he had been with Henry, the clearer his head. The easier it was to think over the harsh whispers of the ink. He only spoke to Henry when the man was at risk, if Bendy was nearing, if they were meeting for the first time in a new loop to go over what was happening where the prophet couldn’t see. Henry was always calm with is words, never raising his voice, never raising a hand or axe to the prophet, never-

 _Never like Bendy._  
  
Sammy rested his forehead on his knuckles and wept quietly in that dark little room.  
  
Damn this form. He wasn’t granted the privilege of tears.  
  
How wrong could a man be?  
  
Mask down and mind clear enough, Sammy set out for the music room.  
  
/  
  
Not having Sammy say anything after the first tape didn’t give Henry a good feeling. He’d worried that this would happen, Sammy giving up and going back to ambushing him with a dustpan. Was it even an ambush if he knew it was coming?  
  
Still, total silence was new. New meant the axe was out and ready as Henry entered the music department. No chances. Whether Sammy was angry with him or driven madder by the loops, Henry wanted to be ready for it.  
  
“Henry.”  
  
The cartoonist spun to find Sammy on the ground floor. Arms at his sides, hands empty of the dreaded dustpan. He hadn’t even hit the play button for the sanctuary tape! “Sammy.”  
  
“Indeed.” Sammy stared hard at the man and clasped one hand over another. “What loop are you up to now?”  
  
Henry squinted. “Two hundred and seventy-five. How many for you?”  
  
“Unimportant.” Sammy raised his hands, fingers spread wide. “This number, however.” He wriggled the digits of both hands. Had he a mouth, he’d be grinning.  
  
Henry blinked in shock. The missing fingers hadn’t been lost on him when he’d seen Sammy the first time. “All ten?”  
  
“All ten.” Sammy nodded once before spreading his arms to the man. “Regaining two fingers is more than what decades of servitude under the ink demon have given me. All my prayers ignored. All my pleas rebuffed. The ink blinded this shepherd, but now he sees the light in the darkness for who it truly is!” Hands still outstretched, the prophet fell to his knees. “It was you who will set us free.” His palms slammed upon the floorboards. “My lord, how blind I was!”  
  
“Sammy...” Oh, this was wrong. He was as much a true god as Bendy was a true demon. “No, Sammy. C’mon, stand up.” He motioned with his free hand, but Sammy had his face to the floor. Henry ran a hand through his hair with a sharp exhale from his nose. “ _Sammy_.”  
  
His masked head snapped up. “My lord-”  
  
Henry knelt, a hand steadying himself with the axe. If he let this go any further, they might never make progress. “ _No_. Sammy, this is the truth. I’m not a god. I’m a man who’s trapped in a world he can’t fully understand. I am as lost as you are.” He stood and offered his left hand out to the ink man on the floor. “But I want to figure this out together if we can.”  
  
“If?” Sammy glanced slowly from Henry’s face to the offered hand. The words hadn’t missed their mark, but he still let out a cold chuckle. “You say you’re not a god, but you made Bendy. You’re not a god, yet your presence has restored parts of me after following your path. You’re not a god, but you come back from the dead time after time?” The shocked horror at seeing Henry struck down, only for time to stand still and skip backwards to bring him back that first time was still fresh in his muddled mind. “You’re the _creator_.”  
  
Henry let his hand drop, flipping the axe to rest over his shoulder. “I didn’t make that thing you _call_ Bendy, for one. That was all Joey. That may be Bendy now, but… not the Bendy I made,” he finished quietly and stood. “And I don’t control coming back. I don’t control any of this.”  
  
Sammy said nothing. He didn’t even budge.  
  
The cartoonist sighed. “Look. You can come with me now, or the next loop, or never. I can’t help you if you see me as something I’m not. Think it over, but I can’t wait forever, Sammy Lawrence.” He turned and left the music department. Hearing no footfalls behind him, Henry did as he had for hundreds of loops; press on.  
  
/  
  
One good thing about Sammy not trying to sacrifice him anymore? No ink demon to run from for the time being. One bad thing about not running from the ink demon? It took longer to locate Buddy Boris.  
  
Henry hoped that Buddy was hiding behind the wall as he had before the loops changed, but that wasn’t always the case. While not random, it was harder to pin down. Sammy had followed a pattern out of madness, but Buddy was fighting for survival just like Henry. Survival couldn’t afford patterns when you knew some patterns meant death.  
  
It might be days before he actually found the clone. Such was the curse of deviation. On the wall where Buddy usually stood before, Henry found a sigil like the one he’d woken up on so many times. He never got used to falling. The cartoonist leaned in close. Was it drawn with chalk? Where did this place get chalk?  
  
“I wouldn’t touch that, little sheep.”  
  
Henry spun, axe at the ready to find Sammy not three feet away. He exhaled with a groan as the ink man approached. “Do you want an axe to the head?”  
  
“Mm, too soon for that.” He placed an inked finger to the axe and pushed it down. “But those sigils aren’t safe for someone like you. Too… human. Were you a monster like me, one touch and you could float through the ink to the destination you choose, but you?” His voice lost its humorous edge. “Well, no one enjoys knowing how the sausage is made.”  
  
“Oh.”  
  
“Since you seem so _keen_ on doing dangerous things,” Sammy cocked his head. “I’ll lead.”  
  
“To where? I’m looking for my Boris.”  
  
“He’ll turn up. He always does, doesn’t he, old man?”  
  
Old? Sammy had had a decade on Henry when they’d first met! “Am I a man or a sheep?”  
  
Sammy’s grin was felt as he said, “You tell me.”  
  
The cartoonist drew in a breath and adjusted the axe to rest on his shoulder. “Okay. You wanna come with me? Fine. But if this’ll work, we need ground rules.”  
  
“Fair enough. You have the floor.”  
  
Henry raised a finger to tick off his points. “First, no praising me. I’m just a man trapped here like you.”  
  
“I respectfully disagree that you’re _just_ a man, but very well.” Sammy mimicked Henry with a finger of his own-the pinkie, of course. “Second, do not abandon me.”  
  
The cartoonist furrowed his brow, just a little hurt by the request. “Only if you agree to the same.”  
  
“You want to shake on it, little sheep?”  
  
“I have a name.”  
  
“I know, I’ve spoken it.”  
  
Henry raked a hand through his hair. “Call me Henry. Please.”  
  
Sammy leaned close so that his mask took up all the shorter man could see. “Is that the third?”  
  
“No.” The cartoonist tapped a finger between the eyes of the Bendy mask. “Third is to not invade my personal space.”  
  
“I can’t make any promises, Henry,” Sammy drawled before rising to his full height to stride past Henry. “Come along, then.”  
  
Henry chuckled and followed. “So now you can be loud?”  
  
The ink man raised a hand in response. “Loud footfalls are for your sake. Can’t have you having a heart attack, can we?”  
  
“Why make noise if I can see you?”  
  
Sammy paused and picked a wrench from its place on the floor. “Is that going to be the _forth_ rule? Only be loud when you can’t see me? I’ll oblige. I even brought my banjo.” He jabbed a thumb at the instrument across his back and kept walking. The prophet wouldn’t admit it, but this was the closest thing to true conversation he’d had in a long time. Sure, they’d spoken in prior loops, but that was more necessity than… whatever they had now.  
  
The cartoonist shook his head and followed.  
  
/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I <3 you.


	4. Quatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prophet becomes shepherd for the cartoonist.

**The prophet becomes** **shepherd** **for the cartoonist.**

/

Everyone had an instrument. _Everyone_. From the simple triangle to the most impressive pipe organ. As a musician since childhood, Sammy Lawrence could pick the right one for anyone. He could play a tune that fit a soul to the letter if given the chance!  
  
Henry was easy to pick from the repertoire of his inner orchestra. Henry, the resilient and stoic cartoonist, was the G minor chord on a steel stringed guitar. More work went into that chord when it came to finger-work than some would think. But once that work was put in, it was an exquisite, melancholy sound.  
  
That word fit Henry too; melancholy.  
  
Agonized as he was in his current form, Sammy wasn’t oblivious to the pain of others. He’d been the guiding light to so many searchers and lost ones. He knew pain better than he knew himself.  
  
Henry swung the axe with a skill born of forced repetition. He sighed from frustration more than exhaustion. He cleaned his glasses when he needed to do something, and he wouldn’t slow down to eat, popping the tops from cans and tossing them quickly.  
  
Exhausted. Driven. Melancholy.  
  
 _Henry_.  
  
It didn’t help that the musician was remembering… bits. Just bits. Nothing enough to jog anything more than disappointment. Not enough to give him more than what the last memory gave. The worst thing was knowing who he had been, but only just. Like he had been given a mere pamphlet to take the place of a novel. He needed his chapters, not just his highlights.  
  
“Hey, my old desk.” Henry gave the desk a fond smile. “I wasted so much time here.” He’d stopped questioning how his old office kept appearing on different floors about the fifth time it happened. The room was always the same as he’d left it thirty years prior.  
  
Sammy strode into the room, masked face taking in the small space. Desk, lamp, Bendy drawing, chair, a door… why did he know that door? “Where does that door lead?” asked the ink man as he walked towards it.  
  
The cartoonist shrugged. “Supply closet. You can look in there if you want.”  
  
“Mm.” It couldn’t hurt. The ink man twisted the knob and pulled the door open-  
  
 _Henry merely glanced up when Sammy Lawrence bolted into his office and stared ahead with wild blue eyes.  
  
“Hide me.”  
  
“Mm. Supply closet.” He knew better than to ask at this point. The composer had his moments of madness, and Henry was used to being the port in many a storm.  
  
The blond made it in two long strides and shut the door quietly. Not even half a minute later, Joey Drew popped in.  
  
Funny. Neither of them knew how to knock.  
  
“Henry!” Joey drew out the name in a slow and happy greeting, but his smile was tight. “Say, old friend, you wouldn’t happen to have seen a certain musician come by here, have you? I need to discuss something with him about the upcoming cartoon!”  
  
Henry shrugged. “I’ve been here all day, Joey. No one’s stopped by.”  
  
“Darn.” The mans mustache twitched. “That Sammy Lawrence has pulled a Houdini. If this newest cartoon is gonna hit theaters on time, he needs to stop fooling around and hop to it.”  
  
“What’s the holdup?”  
  
“His music is on par with what I’m looking for, but it’s just missing… something.” Joey frowned at the cartoonist. “You sure you haven’t seen him?”  
  
“Wait. He’s the tall, thin, blond man, right? Ponytail?”  
  
“That’s him!”  
  
Henry pretended to think, eyes glancing at the supply closet briefly then back at Joey. “Oh, that one. I think he was heading to your office? Or that way, at least. I think he went by a minute or two before you came in.”  
  
Joey grinned and slapped Henry’s shoulder a little too hard. “Knew I could count on you! Keep up the good work!” He turned on his heel and headed out of the office without even a thank you. Not that Henry expected one.  
  
“...you’re safe, Mister Lawrence.” Henry called out when the footfalls faded.  
  
The supply closet popped open and a scowling Sammy emerged. “Thank you.”  
  
The cartoonist leaned back in his chair and quirked a brow. “I didn’t realize Joey was hounding you so bad.”  
  
The blond gave a sharp bark of a laugh. “He loves to tell me he loves my music, but there’s always something missing. He can never explain what it is until something else is snipped, bumped, or cut.” Sammy glanced at Henry and his expression relaxed from frustrated to something a little calmer. “Don’t misread this. My life is my work and my work is my life.” He took a slow breath and ran a hand through his hair. “But if Mister Drew has me rewrite this single bit one more time I will explode and take half this building with me.”  
  
Henry set down his pencil, brows furrowed. “Joey can be a bit much-” The musicians glare cut him off. “Okay. He’s a pain most of the time.” The cartoonist adjusted his glasses and smirked. “Here’s an idea. If you have free time, pop by my office and look at the pencil tests. If you have an idea what’s coming, you might be a step ahead of Joey.”  
  
The slender man blinked. “I’ll take any offer if it means I get some quiet.” Hands folded behind his back, he leaned over the desk to observe Henry’s latest work. Bendy, with a hand to his stomach, flat on his butt and grinning at something to the left. Such a cute, lively pose. “You draw beautifully.”  
  
Henry smiled. “Thank you. You play beautifully.”  
  
“I know.” Sammy stood and stretched with a series of pops. “But I’d best get back to the music room before anyone thinks I’m playing hooky.”  
  
“Come back any time you need a place to hide.”  
  
“Noted.”_  
  
Back at the moment, tremors shook Sammy. Such a simple, vivid memory. Something inconsequential to the matter at hand but- well if it were inconsequential why did it crop up?  
  
“Sammy? Find something?”  
  
Henry’s voice pulled him back to the studio. He turned, holding the wrench at the ready. When Henry didn’t make a move to raise his axe, Sammy shuddered.  
  
“I used to hide in here.”  
  
The cartoonist looked at Sammy over his glasses. “I know. You’d watch me draw upcoming films to keep Joey from ambushing you.”  
  
“You had a talent to your poses, a puff of life to your creations that made putting music to them so fulfilling. I could feel your excitement when you’d show me your latest pencil tests.” The ink man tilted his head down in question. “That… makes me wonder. Why did you leave something you loved?”  
  
“Uh...” Henry pulled off his glasses and cleaned a lens on his shirt. “I had my reasons. My wife was pregnant, I wasn’t being paid enough for the hours I worked, and Joey-” He took a breath, feeling his face heat up from the memory of that anger. That betrayal. That _threat_. “Joey took all the credit, I did all the work.”  
  
Sammy tilted his head. “Be glad you weren’t turned into a monster.”  
  
The cartoonist turned and left the room, mumbling bitterly. “At this rate, I’m one already.”  
  
Sammy’s head tilted the other way, and he followed Henry out of the room, wrench swinging freely. “You’re human, save some ink spatters and a strong aversion to staying dead.”  
  
Henry cracked his neck but didn’t slow down. “I’ve killed off more searchers than I can count. On more than one occasion I’ve killed you when Tom didn’t show up in time.”  
  
Sammy shrugged at the cartoonist. “Mm. They’re more ink than man, you know.”  
  
“I’ve still killed people.”  
  
“Oh… you realize that no one’s died because of you, don’t you, Henry?”  
  
Henry turned and scowled. “ _How_ am I supposed to know that?”  
  
Sammy huffed, arms spread in question. “You seem inclined to not ask questions and just assume you’re terrible!” Sammy thumped the wrench to his free hand. “Searchers don’t _die_. They go back to the ink. Lost Ones like myself are much the same, but we lose more of ourselves each time we go to the ink. We were all human once.” His focus went from Henry to the rafters above. “But a few blows with an axe won’t do most down here in for good. Not really.”  
  
Henry furrowed his brows. “But what about Alice and my Boris? The Butcher gang?”  
  
“Clones are… different. I don’t know how. Butcher gang are clones with just enough soul in them to give them movement. Your Boris and that mad angel have souls, but not their bodies. Their real bodies… a clone without a soul was never alive. Not by your standards. Searchers are already too far gone to count as human anymore. Everything they were is inside the Ink.”  
  
Henry relaxed a bit, but had a new question. “How do you know this, Sammy?”  
  
The ink man lay a hand over where his heart would be, finding no horror in the silence under his palm. “I was there when the ink machine was built. I was there when pipes burst overhead and showered me with black. I was there when walls were torn down for more pipes.” He lowered his hand. “The ink drove me mad. One drop in my mouth and I was lost. An accident, but an ever-lasting one. An addiction that ran deeper than nicotine, caffeine, or cocaine can delve. The twisted angel isn’t lying when she calls the Ink a sea of screaming voices. But those screams mean… life.” His fingers tapped their slow pattern as his mind slowed. Sammy’s eyeless gaze fell onto Henry once more.  
  
The cartoonist drew in a slow breath. “...thank you.”  
  
“For what, little sheep?”  
  
He smirked. “Clarifying. It helps. You help.”  
  
Oh. The ink man puffed up a little at that.  
  
They said nothing as they left Henry’s old office, both of them feeling a little better about what they were facing. There was nothing to discuss, not after seeing the old drawing desk. The only sounds were Henry’s footsteps and Sammy’s sloshing stride. The Ink man lead, several strides ahead, wrench at the ready.  
  
Henry pondered getting Sammy an axe of his own. He was a madman when wielding it, but finding a second axe in this place was harder than getting a functional tommy gun. So, mind alert but prone to wander, Henry did what any cartoonist would when there wasn’t much else to do; figure studying.  
  
Sammy never strayed far forward, never over six paces from Henry. The banjo strapped across his back had seen better days, but looked in working order. Sammy, however… he had human form under the ink and overalls, but not how Henry remembered him. Then again, the Sammy Lawrence he knew hadn’t wandered the studio shirtless or ink-stained.  
  
The ink, that _inky, dark abyss_ Sammy had decried it as so many times had its own, twisted beauty to it. Solid, but slick, like oil on blacktop or the feathers of a grackle. The amber lights of the studio shed indigo highlights on Sammy wherever he stepped. His shadows were blacker than the night above the Bronx. Built like a man who had been at the railroads his whole life, not behind the podium or at a piano.  
  
The ink man stuck out an arm and Henry halted before they’d collide. They’d come upon… the lunch room? It wasn’t this far down… was it? For the life of him, the cartoonist couldn’t remember what floors the damn place kept showing up on. But, Sammy.  
  
Sammy reached backwards and grasped Henry’s arm. “He’s near.” No sooner had he spoken it than the walls pulsed with rings of black up ahead. A hiss shuddered through the open air above.  
  
The grinning beast leaped from a deep puddle and thundered unevenly at them. No where to go and nothing to do but fight.  
  
Henry could only dodge by the time the Ink Demon had him cornered and get the occasional swing with his axe. It had little effect but to make the thing shake its head or stumble back, but it kept coming. Mismatched hands grasped and a grin that was etched into the cartoonists mind was mere feet or mere inches from him. No blow of the axe stalled the beast for long.  
  
Sammy wasn’t good with a wrench, but by heaven he was trying! The ink man swiped the sharp tines of the wrench across the spines of the Ink Demon, earning a grinding screech and a mule kick to the gut for his efforts. The ink man let out a hoarse grunt as it flung backward him.  
  
Henry lost track of Sammy somewhere between the demon kicking the poor guy and the demon throwing Henry into a wall.  
  
Now that? That hurt like hell. It took serious effort after so many loops for Henry to register anything on the pain scale. He’d probably rate being hurled at a pipe-laden wall somewhere between having a cracked molar and being put through a meat grinder.  
  
So. _Maybe_ a seven on a scale of one to ten.  
  
Between the encroaching darkness of his ruined creation and the stabbing ache shooting across his back, Henry’s tinnitus kicked up. Great! A shrill ringing in his left ear and the faint but distinct sound of a banjo would accompany this death.  
  
...wait. Banjo? Henry lifted his head and looked blearily around for some sign of the musician. Where the hell was Sammy?  
  
He caught sight of the ink man from around the Ink Demon’s club foot. Down a ways at the end of a long, crooked hall stood Sammy Lawrence, and he was playing his banjo with terror-fueled _fury_.  
  
Bendy noticed and turned, letting out a grinding noise upon spotting the musician. He forgot Henry on the floor and raced after Sammy, who was playing the most furious rendition of _The_ _Cuckoo_ that anyone had ever heard.  
  
The Ink Demon got halfway down the hall before Sammy turned and broke into a sprint, still playing and never missing a note.  
  
Henry didn’t think to get up until he couldn’t hear the music, and even then he didn’t budge. He’d clasped the axe so tightly in his right hand that his fingers ached. Moving at that moment wasn’t a wise idea, but the pain of being flung into a wall at the speed of ‘get bent’ would stun even the hardest of men.  
  
“Well!” Sammy called out from a loft above Henry’s head. He was in one piece and pleased as punch about it. The broken Bendy mask peered down at Henry from its perch. “I can safely say that ended better than I expected.”  
  
Henry chuckled lightly, shaking his head. “Let me guess, one of those sigils?”  
  
“Nonsense.” Sammy preened, arms crossed over his chest. “I ran track in high school.” He paused and his arms fell open. “I… remember high school. Of all the things to come back!” He finished with a laugh, a hand to his head. “Oh. Of _all_ things!” He let his arm drop, tilting his head at the man on the floor. “Are you alright?”  
  
... really? The cartoonist sighed and shrugged limply from the floor. “The Ink Demon backhanded me into a pipe wall-”  
  
Sammy seemed to enjoy leaping railings, since that’s just what he did. He sprinted to the man and hit his knees beside him. “Any breaks?”  
  
“My pride.”  
  
The prophet huffed an unsure chuckle, but the worry didn’t fade. “Can you stand?”  
  
“Yeah, just- need a minute.”  
  
Sammy nodded, mask fixed firmly on Henry. When the minute passed, he hummed in thought. “I can lift you, you know.”  
  
Hazel eyes went wide. “No, I can-”  
  
Sammy shifted to the balls of his feet-the boots were wonderfully grippy! -and slid an arm beneath Henry’s knees with one around his back. He tilted the man until he was certain his feet were firmly on the floorboards, but left an arm around his shoulders… just in case, and only in case. His touch left blackened smudges across the mosstone flannel shirt and tan pants. “There we go.”  
  
Henry frowned, but found his balance. His back still hurt, but now they could get moving.  
  
“Maybe you should rest,” Sammy murmured, arm still slung across Henry’s back.  
  
The cartoonist glanced at Sammy over his glasses. “There’s nowhere safe from the Ink Demon, save for Boris’s hideout and the little miracle stations.” He couldn’t count the times he’d slept in a miracle booth with all his fingers and toes. Not comfortable, but worth the shut eye.  
  
The prophet adjusted his grip. “I will find one, my little sheep.”  
  
Henry chuckled at the nickname. So much for just being Henry. “I’ll be fine.”  
  
“He slapped you into a wall.” What was it with slapping people into walls?  
  
“He kicked you in the gut.”  
  
“Yes, there’s no need for a replay.” The ink man waved the man he held up with his free hand. “But a booth…”  
  
“Are _you_ okay? You went flying.” Henry wasn’t… opposed to being helped. His back was still in some serious pain, but he was sure he could walk on his own.  
  
Sammy half dragged the man out of the room to a hallway. “I’ve had worse.” At least the blow hadn’t shattered him back into a puddle. Who knew what he’d lose clawing his way back out of the ink? Sammy hung a left and found only more hallway. “Are there more booths on the lower floors?”

  
“ Sometimes. Depends on the loop .” Henry remembered past loops with Sammy helping him, but the ink man only barely did. He’d pop in and out to check his progress, distract a Butcher Gang member, but he wasn’t this… hands on. But those loops had Sammy serving _Bendy_ by helping Henry, not helping Henry to save himself. It was hard to call the poor creature selfish, considering how this had gone. “ You’ve met the Projectionist before I came along, right?”  
  
Sammy didn’t pause in his crusade to find his companion somewhere safe to sleep. “Not on good terms. What was his name?”  
  
“Norman Polk.”  
  
... Sammy knew the name, but it meant nothing right then. “I’m sure I’ll remember when it’s least convenient.” Another turn, and there sat a booth in the corner at the farthest end of the hall. “Ah! What luck.”  
  
Henry patted the ink man’s shoulder, not caring about the black tacky marks on his palm. “Good. There a clock around here?”  
  
“...why?” Sammy took the axe from Henry’s easily broken grip and slid the handle into a loop on his overalls, blade facing backwards.  
  
Henry shrugged a shoulder and instantly regretted it. He winced but managed a smirk. “I can’t sleep for long. We have to keep moving.”  
  
The Bendy mask made no change, but Henry could sense the disapproval of the wearer.  
  
Henry slid out from under Sammy’s inky arm and staggered to the booth. It wasn’t easy to sleep sitting up, but he’d done it before. Pressing himself into the left corner, he waved the ink man over.  
  
“Mm?”  
  
The man gestured to the empty half of the bench in the booth. “Come on. You need a break, too.”  
  
Saying nothing, the prophet pushed the door to the booth closed with the toe of his boot.  
  
Henry gave the rectangle gap in the door a flat glare. “Really?”  
  
“I can’t protect you from within the booth, my little sheep.” The Prophet stared into the booth, the Bendy mask pressed to the wood tightly. “Sleep. I will wake you soon enough.” With that, the ink man moved out of sight.  
  
The cartoonist breathed out a sigh and closed his eyes. It seemed good to sit down, even on a hard surface.  
  
Outside of the booth, the prophet stayed ever alert. The shepherd to this lone sheep wouldn’t stray, but he needed to do something besides stand guard. He could sense that the Ink Demon was so very far away. Down near the vaults, so deep down below, where ink churned freely and lost souls screamed and wept for freedom as the grinning monster lurched through the deepening black.  
  
In his head, the whispers grew into a pain like brain freeze that had no build up.  
  
Henry’s steady breathing from within called the musician back from the brink. Henry was still there. Henry wasn’t dead. Sammy had a job to do…  
  
But seeing was believing. The ink man turned to peer into the box. The faint amber lights of the studio cast the sleeping man in a warm glow. How did he sleep when the light fell across his eyes?  
  
The ink man gasped silently as something long dead unfurled inside of him. Not a feeling, but the echo of one. It felt familiar, but he didn’t quite know it. It felt warm, whatever it was. Sammy had known and _liked_ Henry back when the studio first started, but now… the echoes of his past feelings couldn’t be named and he couldn’t stand there watching the cartoonist sleep the pain away. Something told him that watching someone sleep was… uncouth.  
  
But he _did_ have his banjo.  
  
Ever watchful, but with a sense of familiarity thought long dead, Sammy Lawrence leaned against the side of the booth and softly plucked out the banjo portion of _The Lighter Side of Hell._

_/_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sammy was going to play Dueling Banjos, but that song didn’t come out until 1954 and Sammy has no way of knowing it. This may be a fictional universe but timelines matter to me!


	5. Cinq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Prophet meets the Wolf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [trigger warnings – suicide [flashback]]

**The Prophet meets the Wolf.  
**

/

Standing guard wasn’t as dull as it seemed. The lull of quiet in the studio wasn’t rare, but the peaceful strum of the banjo sure was. Sammy would not squander having his fingers back. _In the Pines_ drifted gently, _We Shall Overcome_ crooned softly, and _Careless Love Blues_ made the ink man sigh for reasons he didn’t grasp. Sammy was halfway through _Brass Willows_ when he froze. Fingers still crooked over the head and pressed to the strings of the neck. Someone was close… but he was more alarmed that he didn’t know just who or what was close.  
  
Deep within, rooted like twining vines of ivy, the sensation of the Ink Demon was… not in the hallway. Still down by the vaults, possibly resting. Hearing no grunting or growling, the ink man knew it wasn’t butcher gang fodder. Besides, in his past ventures monitoring Henry, those amalgams didn’t show for another level or so down. Sammy stood at attention and squared his shoulders. “Show yourself.”  
  
A lone can of bacon soup rolled down the hallway and thumped into the booth door.  
  
Sammy tilted his head, not taking his gaze off the darkness from down the hall.  
  
The can tapping the booth as enough to wake Henry from within. Sammy stepped towards the intruding entity. He shoved the banjo back to sit behind him and pulled the axe free of its loop.  
  
The wide awake cartoonist stepped out of the booth. He bent to lift the soup can and asked, “What’s happened?”  
  
“A peace offering, I suspect.” Sammy hefted the axe, and it landed in his palm with a wet smack.  
  
The shorter man’s brows furrowed as he stepped around the ink man. “It’s okay to come out. We’re not gonna hurt you.” He knew who it was, anyway. Who else said hello with a can of soup?  
  
Sammy turned to look at Henry, making a low noise. “Little sheep, they might hurt _you_.”  
  
Henry smirked. If only Sammy knew.  
  
Slowly, his ears back and brow scrunched, Buddy Boris emerged from around the corner.  
  
Wasting no time, Henry stepped around Sammy and smiled at the wolf. “Hey, Buddy.” His smile slipped as he stared over his glasses. “You remember me at all?”  
  
Buddy stared, and let out two gruff little noises. The same ones he’d made when turned into a brute. The only noises he _could_ really make. The wolf smiled and waved, then pointed to the can of soup.  
  
Henry chuckled and nodded. “Right. You want this back, Buddy?”  
  
The wolf shook his head and pointed a gloved hand at the cartoonist, then patted his stomach.  
  
“Thanks.” Henry popped the tab on the soup, but offered it to Sammy.  
  
Replacing the axe, the ink man shook his head. “I have no need.”  
  
“You sure?” The ink man had to eat sometime, didn’t he?  
  
Sammy nodded and approached the wolf. The wolf took a step back, head cocked. He… knew Boris. He’d seen mutilated clones hundreds of times, but this one? This one was _perfect_ and familiar in a way that made him ill. Like he’d done something vile but couldn’t place the deed. “What did you call him? Buddy?”  
  
The wolf nodded to answer for Henry, but didn’t take his eyes off Sammy.  
  
How strange, to be scrutinized so hard by a cute little wolf. Well… little wasn’t right. He was as tall as Sammy, not counting the perked ears.  
  
Henry broke the staring match when he hurled the empty soup can down the hall. “Okay, Buddy. Show us the way.”  
  
The ink man fixed Henry with a confused tilt of the head. Buddy gave the same look.  
  
“Safe house?” Henry offered. Buddy seemed to have memory issues, but they always found the safe house when given prompting.  
  
The wolf blinked and pointed at Sammy.  
  
“He comes, too.”  
  
The wolf offered an open palm to the ink man, who drew back just a little.  
  
“ _Yes_ , I’m sure.”  
  
The wolf blinked, shrugged, and turned down the hall with a loping gait.  
  
Henry made no move to follow. Instead, he held his hand open for the axe at Sammy’s hip. “I’ll take that back.”  
  
“It’s fine.”  
  
He frowned, brows set in a firm line. “Buddy’s not dangerous, but he doesn’t know you that well.” He wasn’t blind. Buddy never so much as snarled, but he could tell he wasn’t comfortable with Sammy coming with. “You having the axe won’t help him trust you.”  
  
“Wolves don’t trust shepherds. It’s as much his nature to distrust me as it’s my nature to protect the sheep.”  
  
“Then trust the sheep, I guess.” Movement caught his eye, and he waved to the wolf now leaning around the corner with a quirked brow.  
  
Sammy gave a long-suffering sigh and passed Henry the axe. The wolf around the corner perked a bit and turned to lead the way.  
  
\  
  
The safe-house was neither cramped nor sprawling. It had a few rooms, even a bathroom, a stove of all things, and some furniture.  
  
But it was bright and secure. Better than the dark of the studio by some slight stretch of the imagination. The trio weren’t inside the place more than a minute before the Boris clone scooped up a lighted hardhat and a messenger bag from a jutting nail nearby. He gave a gruff little noise, flashed a thumbs up, and left. The door closed behind him, securing itself with some groans and clicks.  
  
Well, talk about the welcoming committee. “Is he always so quick to leave?”  
  
The cartoonist rubbed the back of his neck with a lopsided smile. “Well, he has three people to feed instead of just two.” Henry took a seat at the table. “Buddy never lets me out with him to find food.”  
  
Sammy cocked his head. “What do you do while he’s away?”  
  
“Read. Draw. Listen to music. Play solitaire. Sleep.” Plenty of entertaining options!  
  
“...and he always comes back?”  
  
Henry smiled softly. “Always.” His smile faded. “But… I always lose him. Later on, I mean.”  
  
“I’ve noticed his absence.” Sammy leaned forward but didn’t quite loom. “What exactly-”  
  
Hazel eyes flicked upwards with warning. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Not yet.  
  
Sammy drew back, hands raised at the sudden change in tone. He had to remind himself that _Henry wasn’t Bendy. Henry would not strike him over questions._ Sore spot located, he’d do his best to skirt around it. “Seems I’ve asked plenty of questions… but you never seem to have many, if any.”  
  
“Curiosity killed the cat, Sammy. I don’t even know what to ask.”  
  
The ink man tilted his head the other way. “Satisfaction brought it back. If we are to work together, you may as well ask questions.”  
  
“What if I don’t have any?”  
  
“You just asked one, little sheep.” His smirk was heard from beneath the mask.  
  
That sparked something. “How do you see while wearing the mask?”  
  
“How can you see without yours?”  
  
Oh, that’s the game they were playing. Okay, then. “I don’t have one.”  
  
The prophet straightened, his gestures growing less restrained. “All the more reason to have me shepherding you, my little sheep.”  
  
Mild apprehension snaked up Henry’s spine. He’d have to figure out what triggered Sammy’s prophetic tendencies. He wasn’t a fan of that side of Sammy, but back to the matter at hand. “Next question. How do you get into your overalls?”  
  
Sammy stared from under the mask. “With great difficulty.”  
  
“Do you want to take a break? You could sit down if you want.”  
  
That… sounded nice. Sammy sat and stared at Henry. He wasn’t sure why he enjoyed staring, but he did.  
  
“Better?”  
  
“Very.”  
  
The cartoonist nodded. “When you get tired, you can take the cot.”  
  
An irate huff. “I have no need.”  
  
“Keep saying that.” He scoffed quietly. A worrying thought stirred in his gut. “Do you sleep?”  
  
The musician leaned against the wall. “Not how you do. Not anymore.”  
  
“What about food?” He held up a hand. “And don’t say you have no need.”  
  
Sammy tilted his head a little, so it lay against the wall. “If I eat, will you stop asking questions about my body?”  
  
Both hands up now. “You said ask questions, but if I’m making you uncomfortable, I’ll stop. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”  
  
That… felt good to hear. “Not discomfort. I simply…” He drummed his fingers in the four beats, still feeling a trill of joy at having all of his fingers. “Dislike being reminded that the ink has changed me against my will.”  
  
Henry blinked. “That’s what uncomfortable _means_.”  
  
“Ah.” Sammy took the soup can and pulled up the top. He froze, staring at the dark contents. He’d eaten it before, but not with someone watching.  
  
“Would it help if I covered my eyes?” Henry offered, tongue-in-cheek.  
  
Sammy lowered the can and fixed Henry with that unseen-but-felt stare. “How will you see me if you cover your eyes?”  
  
“The same way you see with that mask.” He then took off his glasses. “There we go.”  
  
“You’re blind without them?”  
  
Henry managed a chuckle at the question. “Might as well be.”  
  
The ink man stared a moment longer, before carefully pushing his mask up just enough to reveal the fused trench that was his mouth. A few chugs later and he had the can finished and empty. “Don’t… ask how I do that without an actual mouth.” His shreds of dignity were hard to keep intact. Now, what to do with the can?  
  
Henry held out a hand to take the empty tin, noting how carefully Sammy passed it to him. Funny, the ink man was fine with touching him when he pulled him from the floor. Tossing the can into the empty trash bin behind him, he turned back to look at Sammy. Then he remembered he’d taken off his glasses and quickly put them back on. “Buddy won’t be back for a bit. He’s usually gone for maybe an hour.”  
  
“Nothing left to ask?”  
  
“Not for now. But… if you have any, I’m open.”  
  
“I have no need,” Sammy drawled, perching his chin on his open palm. Henry chuckled, and Sammy felt himself smile… well, best he could. “Actually… why do you call the clone Buddy?”  
  
Henry would have flinched had Sammy’s tone been less benign. The cartoonist sighed. “That’s what his name is. Was.” His brow furrowed, and he peered at Sammy over his glasses. “He wrote it down. How he became a clone. I still don’t understand the how of it, but… his name was Daniel Lewek. Buddy was his nickname.”  
  
Sammy nodded. That name didn’t ring bells, sadly. Something hard and square pressed into the pocket of his overalls, and he lifted his head. The sketchbook. The little thing that had them across the table from each other. “Oh!” He pulled it free with little fanfare. “This is what jogged my oldest memory of you.” How had it stayed in his pocket after so many loops?  
  
The cartoonist smiled fondly at the little book. He found such familiar and innocent faces within. “I haven’t seen these sketches in decades.” Still so many blank pages left. One of his worst artistic habits had been leaving notebooks halfway full and forgetting them. Henry cracked a smile. “Thank you, Sammy.”  
  
The ink man turned away, not from embarrassment or shyness but something… else. Nameless, but lighter than air. “I should thank _you_ , Henry. That little book helped me remember some small bits of our past.”  
  
“Would looking at it again jog anything?” Henry passed the small book back, eyes hopeful.  
  
Sammy took the book and flipped it open. A moment later, he sighed and passed it back. “Nothing.”  
  
Henry flipped to a blank page. “Was worth a shot.” He picked a stub of a pencil from a tin mug nearby.  
  
Sammy pulled the banjo from his back to sit comfortably in his lap. “...perhaps.”  
  
So it went. Henry’s soft scratching at the paper and the gentle plucks of the banjo were the only sounds in the small space.  
  
For Sammy, it felt… safe.  
  
/  
  
Buddy returned, soup filling his messenger bag. That meant the wolf was done for at least a day or so, according to Henry. After Sammy trounced the two of them at a few rounds of poker and played some of his more lively music, the trio had worn themselves out.  
  
Sammy refused to take the cot. Henry had insisted, but Sammy was stubborn. He liked that Henry allowed him to say no, that his refusal to bend weren’t met with hostility. Still, this new life was… difficult. Breaking from praising in favor of existing. How could he look at Henry, who’d been a beacon in this inked hell, and not thank him?  
  
He’d been thrust into the role, chosen by the ink, deemed himself a prophet when he clawed out of the blackness. The Ink Demon never spoke, but Sammy knew that He was the one to set them free. He of unshakable faith. He who kept the searchers and lost ones in check and out of the path to freedom. Sammy, the prophet of the Ink Demon, formerly under the employ of the false creator known as Joey Drew.  
  
Then Henry popped up and was kinder to him in the span of a day than _anyone_ had been in the last fourteen years.  
  
He realized that what the ink and its demon had been giving him was not love. Sammy didn’t even know what love was when he was a human, but after being with Henry for not even a day, he figured this was closer to it. No wrath, only warmth… but the urges rang clear. The whispers never ceased.  
  
The urge to hit his knees and bow. The urge to sing praises and call lost ones to their side. This man on the cot, the savior of those lost to the ink… but Henry had clarified that _that_ was off the table. Sammy glanced at the sleeping man to his right. He’d chosen to sit near to the cot, but out of arms reach to not be… intrusive.  
  
He’d learned somewhere, a long time before the studio, that fear was the heart of love. Sammy wasn’t sure how true that was. He did not fear Henry, who slept peacefully beside him as if the ink man hadn’t tried to sacrifice or bludgeon him countless times. Great. He’d been staring.  
  
Sammy thumped the back of his head to the wall behind him. The musician-  
  
 _-sighed and set down his pen. Guess the score revisions would have to wait. Rubbing his tired eyes with index and thumb, he dragged up every ounce of patience for the young man. “What is it now?”  
  
Wally stopped short when he thumped into the door frame. The key ring on his hip jingled, which only confused the blond more.  
  
“I can’t get Mister Cohen to let me in his office.” He didn’t let Sammy get a word in. “It’s late, and he’s usually gone home by now, but the lights are on! A-and I didn’t see him leave.”  
  
“Did you try knocking?” he drawled, eyeing Wally with scrutiny. How was ten at night late for half these people? How could anyone be asleep when midnight oil burned the brightest?  
  
“Yeah.” The janitor shuffled and fumbled at his keys. “But nobody answered. Mister Drew’s said I can’t keep skipping rooms just cuz people tell me off. I wear plenty o’ hats, but cleaning is what I’m paid for.”_  
  
 _Sammy stood. “So you bother me.”  
  
“You yell at everybody. You don’t count.”  
  
The older man grumbled and made his way down the hall. He wasn’t close with… anyone but Susie since Henry had left, but he was hard on Wally because he never stumbled over himself when he failed. He grinned and got to work… much like a certain cartoonist he’d known. “I’ll look. Do you have his key?”  
  
Wally handed over the key ring, holding up a brass key.  
  
“Alright.” Sammy took the key as they headed to Management. “But when this turns into nothing, you owe me a cup of coffee.”  
  
“Got it. But if it’s something, you owe me something.” They stopped before Grant’s office, and the light was indeed on. “Dunno what, but something! Like a donut, or a new push broom, or a-”  
  
“Wally,” Sammy stated sharply. It was just a locked door, but the blond was growing concerned. There was no sound on the other side of the door. Not a typewriter going at it, a calculator popping out numbers, not even a sigh or a snore. “I want you to stay out of the room.”  
  
The redhead blinked. “Whyzat?”  
  
“Just stay put.” Sammy unlocked the door with a twist of key and knob. It creaked slowly in a shrill B flat. Organized chaos. To the right was an inky scrawl across the wall above the desk, half gibberish and half legible. __**$48,128 SHORT. TIME IS MONEY. WHAT WILL JOEY SAY. TAXES.**_ _Numbers that Sammy knew were too big to be good. He turned slowly to where Grant kept his filing cabinet.  
  
Grant wasn’t beside his file cabinet. Grant was hanging from the ceiling.  
  
“Christ!” The musician charged out of the room and slammed the door behind him. His heart raced to the point of pain, hammering to escape his rib cage. Wild eyes fixed onto Wally, who had listened for once and stayed put. He jabbed a shaking finger at the startled young man. “Wally, stay put. Lock the door. Don’t let anyone in.”  
  
“Whatsa matter? Sammy!”  
  
Sammy took off in a dead sprint towards the far end of the studio. He rounded on the stairs to Joey’s office and flung the door open. The man never seemed to head home, workaholic and dreamer in one peppy package.  
  
Unfazed, Joey looked up with his classic grin. “Sammy!” The permanent smile fell at the look the musician gave him. “What’s wrong?”  
  
The slender man drew a breath. “Grant’s dead.”  
  
Joey leaped from his seat and ran past Sammy. “How long?”  
  
“Don’t know! Wally was trying to get in to clean-” He paused as he skipped the last stair to catch up- “He came to get me when Grant didn’t respond to knocking!” Thank heaven the kid hadn’t opened the door himself!  
  
They arrived to find the door to Grant’s office cracked halfway open and Wally leaning against the wall across from it. The brashness had gone from his frame and something ghastly and tired took its place. Wally never took his eyes off the door, even as the two men approached.  
  
Joey darted into the office and cried, “Holy shit!” before darting back out, closing the door tightly and pressing his back to it. “Jesus Christ… this is…” The director covered his mouth to slow his breathing. The man had never looked so pale.  
  
Sammy felt heat coiling around his neck, but his hands were like ice. “Wally, I said not to-”  
  
The janitor’_ _s_ _mouth quivered, sniffing sharply. “I’m outta here.” He pulled his hat down over his curls to hide his eyes and turned. The only further noise from the young man was the sound of his key ring dropping into a trash can.  
  
“Wally!” Sammy’s heart thundered against his ribs, sinking slowly as the cold of adrenaline wore off. Grant was dead. Wally might not be coming back. Joey was-  
  
Joey stared hard at the musician, a hand clapping firmly to his shoulder. “Sammy. I want you to head home for the night. I’ll handle this.”  
  
“Joey, the cops will want a statement-”  
  
The hand squeezed painfully, fingertips digging deep enough to bruise. “I’ll handle this. Now, go home.” He patted Sammy’s shoulder and fixed him with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “And don’t tell anyone else what happened here. Understand?”_  
  
The ink man came out of the old, abhorrent memory with a gasp that sucked the air from the room. The sensation of sharp fingers digging into his shoulder lingered. Decades past, but fresh as if Joey had just let go of him. “What.” Grant Cohen was hanging from the ceiling. Grant Cohen, the high-strung man in charge of finances for the studio, killed himself over a missing fifty grand.  
  
And Joey had… _oh_ _god_. Sammy covered where his mouth had been and hated the trembling in his hand.  
  
“Sammy.”  
  
He hated that he jumped, but he didn’t hate Henry for making him do it.  
  
The cartoonist was sitting up, propped on his elbows and hands folded over each other. He squinted before placing his glasses on. “What is it? Is _he_ close?”  
  
The ink man shook his head at Henry and promptly pulled down his mask. Henry didn’t need to see what lay beneath, even if he had the ill luck of seeing it so many times before. Henry did not deserve nightmares. “Grant.”  
  
Henry frowned. “I didn’t know him well. What happened?”  
  
“...hanged himself. I found him.”  
  
Henry adjusted his position and blinked in the darkness. “I’m sorry. Was there a reason?”  
  
Sammy twirled a hand in the air to trace out the note left splattered on the wall. “Time is money. Taxes. Forty-eight thousand one hundred twenty-eight dollars _missing_ from finances.” Sammy’s hand dropped and the ink man stared at nothing. “Joey had the bright idea to blame Grant for the missing money. Made a show of it. What will _Joey_ say? Joey said Grant stole the cash and ran away. Besmirched the name of a dead man to protect his ass,” he spat bitterly.  
  
Henry knew of the writing… but the tape full of horrible gargling next to it raised another question. “If Joey said he took off, where’d the body go?”  
  
“I… don’t know.” But he _did_. Deep down, he knew Joey’s experiments with the ink machine were growing darker and vicious. As to what came out of the machine when an empty corpse went in… he didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t _want_ to know. Sammy shuffled and extended his left leg, right still folded up. “Go back to sleep, little sheep. Your shepherd is fine.”  
  
The cartoonist shot him a flat look. “You sure?”  
  
Sammy didn’t respond.  
  
Feigning sleep or down for the count, Henry didn’t know. But he knew that Buddy in the hammock across from him was watching, pie-cut eyes wide in the dark. Henry gave him a thumbs up and rolled onto his back. They could always talk in the morning.

\


	6. Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio hears an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Flashback—homophobia/slurs.

**The trio hears an angel.  
**

**\**

  
  
Sammy woke to the sound of Buddy climbing out of the hammock, who made his way out of the sleeping area. Henry was still sleeping, but had done so with his glasses on. That couldn’t be comfortable. The fingers of his left hand ticked off a thoughtful rhythm. He could _probably_ remove those without getting ink on Henry or waking him up. Slowly lifting his right hand, the ink man grasped the nose piece with thumb and forefinger-  
  
A quiet grunt froze the ink man, and he turned his head to the wolf in the doorway.  
  
Boris- _Buddy_ was pinning him with wide, pie-cut eyes. Ears forward in observation, arms raised as if ready to grab whatever came next. He held a soup can in one glove, like a pitcher at the plate.  
  
But Sammy got the message. He carefully pulled the glasses off of Henry’s face and set them on the cot. The man let out a grunt and rolled over, causing Sammy to jolt backwards and snap his head around. Buddy couldn’t fault him for being jumpy!  
  
Buddy’s shoulders shook in silent laughter, and Sammy wanted to be offended but just… couldn’t.  
  
The wolf bothered him. Not because of his perfection or his muteness. The familiarity of the lanky canine set his teeth on edge, so to speak.  
  
Still, he was in the right place to question his memories. He hoped as he strode into the sitting area that Buddy would at least humor him.  
  
Buddy sat, relaxed and observant. A glove and a foot thumping in a steady rhythm that only he could hear.  
  
How familiar, much like Sammy and his fingers. “May I sit?”  
  
The wolf nodded, gloved hand slowing. He tilted his head and sniffed the air.  
  
Sammy sat, folded his hands and sat straight. He realized that he didn’t know where to start. “I… do you… do you know who I am?”  
  
The wolf stilled and blinked. His inked brow scrunched, and he nodded. He then pointed at Sammy and then to himself.  
  
“Daniel Lewek. I know you only because I did something to you. I _know_ I did something.” The ink man grumbled. “I can’t remember what it was. I think-” he held up a hand to the wolf, wiggling his pinkie- “This- I cut _both_ off long ago. But since Henry has come into it, they returned.”  
  
The wolf nodded, eyes wide.  
  
“I don’t understand how it works, but it does. The more done with Henry, the more I become… myself.” He sighed, hands folded on the table. “I… I need to know what I did to you. My mind can’t jog the memory on its own.” His muted brow scrunched behind the mask. “But if you can’t speak, I don’t know how we’d even try.”  
  
Buddy Boris frowned, then turned to a shelf behind him. He grabbed a hefty stack of papers to lie out a couple from the start and a couple near the end. He extended a gloved hand to Sammy, then with the same hand tapped the papers firmly with his gloved fingertip.  
  
“You… wrote it down?”  
  
A fast nod. Buddy handed the papers to the ink man and sat back, hands folded before himself.  
  
Taking the papers in hand, mindful of the print, Sammy read.  
  
Read about how Buddy had seen Sammy almost drown in the ink and writhe on the floor as it consumed him. How he’d been an utter ass, snapping harder and sharper than ever because of the ink smothering his senses. The pilfered bottles Buddy had seen. How Sammy Lawrence, driven mad by the ink, kidnapped and sacrificed his coworkers. Buddy escaping thanks to a woman named Dot, and a thrown projector. How Buddy, a seventeen-year-old kid too young for this hellscape, sacrificed himself to save Dot.  
  
...and Joey being overjoyed to see Buddy go into the machine and have a perfect Boris pop out.  
  
Sammy set the papers onto the table and folded his hands stiffly. Funny, remembering his hand in the death of a teenage boy didn’t send him spiraling like the other ones. “I… can see why you despise me. This… I’m sorry. It fixes nothing, but I am truly sorry.”  
  
Buddy frowned a little and pointed at the ink man with a grunt. He paused and reached behind himself to grab a sheet of paper and a fountain pen. The pen sure had seen better days, but Buddy wrote in broad, gentle strokes that kept the nib from splintering. He squinted at the writing and passed it to Sammy with a firm nod.  
  
THE INK MADE YOU CRAZY AND NOW WERE BOTH LIKE THIS BUT JOEY STARTED IT SO IM NOT SURE WHAT TO SAY  
  
He gave a solemn nod. That was fair.  
  
Buddy took back the paper and wrote more in his large scrawl. Double checking his work, he pushed the sheet back to Sammy.  
  
HENRY IS GOOD IF HE LIKES YOU THEN YOU DID SOMETHING RIGHT SO I GUESS WE CAN GET ALONG FOR HIM  
  
...Sammy could live with that. Buddy took the sheet back once more and flipped it over. His third message was far shorter than the first two.  
  
PROMISE NOT TO KIDNAP ME AGAIN  
  
Sammy held back a laugh. “A-at least you have a sense of humor. But, no. No, I won’t be tying anyone up.”  
  
Buddy smiled and gave a nod, then turned to the doorway to the sleeping area.  
  
Henry, hair mussed and glasses in hand, smiled at them both. “Glad you two hashed that out.” Placing the glasses back on, he stretched his arms over his head. “So, what’s on the roster for today?”  
  
The ink man tilted his head. “What do you mean?”  
  
“We can either head out now, or in a few days. It’s up to you.”  
  
Up to… him? Fingers tapping the tabletop, the ink man hummed in thought. “How long have you been able to stay here?”  
  
“The record was three weeks.”  
  
Buddy nodded. _So_ many card games.  
  
“And the shortest amount?”  
  
“Overnight.” Henry made a face and yawned. “The outcome is the same no matter how long we stay here.”  
  
“What’s the outcome?”  
  
“I heat some soup for Buddy, he gives me the lever for the door, then we head to…” The place where a twisted angel ripped his wolf away. “Toys.”  
  
“Wait.” He pointed at the door, then promptly lowered his arm. “The handle…” He turned to Buddy across from him, who smirked and resumed his silent movements. “Clever wolf.” His attention turned back to Henry, who gathered soup cans for the pot on the stove.  
  
The pot simmered on the front burner. Henry turned to the two at the table and grabbed a set of bowls and a ladle. “Buddy won’t give up the handle until he gets fed.” It never ceased to amaze him how fast the soup warmed. He ladled some of it into a bowl and handed it carefully to Buddy.  
  
Sammy nodded. “Again, clever wolf.” He glanced at the bowl that was so promptly set before him. “No thank you.”  
  
“The soup tastes better warm. Trust me.”  
  
“Then you have some.”  
  
“Not hungry.” Not with what he knew was coming if Buddy couldn’t be swayed to stay behind.  
  
“Nor am I, little sheep.” Not if it meant taking off the mask.  
  
Buddy smirked inwardly. Dinner and a show. He finished his bowl in a short swallow and turned to lift the toolbox hiding the lever.  
  
Henry took it and popped the lid open. “Last chance on the soup.”  
  
The ink man scoffed and turned from the bowl before him… then he glanced back to the wolf across from him. “Buddy looks like he could use a second helping, little sheep.”  
  
A wave of annoyance ebbed at the boulder that was Henry’s patience. “Mm. Yeah. Buddy, you can have it.”  
  
Sammy’s fused jaw hung open in shock, but it slowly filled with ink and he shut it. Guess he’d have to be forceful the next time he wanted Henry to eat.  
  
The lever in the door, Henry frowned. This was it. The toy room, the angel, then… he didn’t know. This loop was so different. He’d gotten used to knowing what was coming. “If we’re going out there together, we need to cover some things.” He rubbed his thumb across the back of his knuckles. A tension headache was brewing behind his eyes.  
  
“Yes. Starting with why you’re stalling.”  
  
Henry turned and quirked a brow at the suddenly standing ink man. “I’m not-”  
  
But then Buddy shrugged behind Sammy in agreement. The wolf also stood but gave Sammy plenty of space.  
  
Fine. He _was_ stalling. “It’s…” He let out a sigh and focused on Buddy. “ _You_ know what’s coming. The crash.” He smiled, just a little hopeful that the wolf would stay put this time. “You can stay here if you wanted?”  
  
But the wolf shook his head. Crossing the floor, he clapped a gloved hand to Henry’s shoulder.  
  
The cartoonist looked up at him sadly. “But… Buddy. You know what’s coming.”  
  
Buddy nodded again.  
  
“But you could avoid all that!”  
  
Sammy stood back and watched, the prickliness of anxiety at being left out of what Henry meant needling away at him.  
  
Shaking his head, the wolf patted Henry again. He grunted and frowned at his lack of voice. He gestured at the man, pointing between them both before clasping his hands together.  
  
The cartoonist sighed and picked the axe from where it lay by the door. “Alright. Let’s go.” He pulled the lever, and out into the dark they went.  
  
The darkness, the flashlight, familiarity without comfort.  
  
The hurried thundering of footsteps above drew the trio’s attention. Henry looked at the wolf ahead of him. “Did you hear that?”  
  
Buddy stared.  
  
“Yeah. Me, either. Sammy, any ideas?”  
  
“Better if you don’t know, Henry.”  
  
“You used my actual name, so it must be serious.”  
  
The ink man tsk’d behind him, the smirk heard in his voice. “I could just call you Stein.”  
  
“Or, you could not.”  
  
“Very well, my little sheep.”  
  
Up ahead, Buddy’s shoulders shook with silent laughter. The lights flicked on, and the three of them approached a door. Buddy headed towards the vent on the near wall. He glanced back at Henry and Sammy, before flashing a thumbs up and pulling the vent cover off. The wolf pulled it shut behind him, and the sound of his knobby body thumping in the metal vents quickly faded.  
  
Feeling eyes on his back, Henry turned to Sammy. “He’ll be back. He’s just getting the doors.”  
  
Sammy stepped to stand beside the man. “Where are we heading?”  
  
“Well, what’s through there’s the Toy Department. Have you been in here before?”  
  
“The Twisted Angel rules this place. She sings the old songs in a minor key just to irk those who know what they really are. Joyful tunes for joyful toons...” _And our Lords delights,_ part of him begged to say. The prophet rolled his shoulders and turned his mask to Henry. “You’re better off avoiding her best you can.”  
  
Henry adjusted the axe. “You… don’t have to come with me if you’re not comfortable.”  
  
The Bendy mask filled the cartoonist’s entire field of vision. “My comfort aside, I promised not to abandon you.”  
  
“You also promised to call me by my name.”  
  
Sammy withdrew. “I did not, little sheep.”  
  
The doors parted. The massive grinning face of Bendy greeted them, plastered messily to the wall. They entered, Henry lax and Sammy on edge close behind.  
  
The toy room was exactly how it always had been. Huge, high ceilings. Machines left to bleed ink. Broken couches strewn about. Chaos born from the wrath of an angel. Still, no point in stalling. Henry had learned after, oh, the fiftieth loop, that he could fiddle around as long as he wanted between the ominous humming and heading to the cordoned off dressing room.  
  
Speaking of the ominous humming… there it was. Henry turned his head to the rafters, frowning at the humming coming from high above.  
  
But Sammy was still as stone, his mask straight up at the rafters above just like Henry. Unlike Henry, his empty hands shook. “Little sheep, I think that-”  
  
 _“-score can wait a minute. I’ve got a problem only you can solve!”  
  
He narrowed his eyes at the man behind the desk. “What is it? If it’s about that damn pump again-”  
  
The director let out a forced guffaw. “Oh no, nothing like that! I’ve got a problem with someone in your department, but I wanted to ask you about it to see if we can figure something out.”  
  
“Alright.” Sammy set the folder holding the score onto the desk and folded his arms behind his back. His gut told him this wasn’t what it seemed. Nothing with Joey ever was.  
  
The director let out a big, dramatic sigh as he always did before talking about anything heavier than a feather. Lacing his fingers over his desk, Joey finally got to the point. “Sillyvision and Joey Drew Studios are both growing. Growth needs a properly cultivated image that says all the right things. We’re here to entertain! We’re here to delight! We’re safe for all ages to kick up their feet and watch our beloved little characters dance, sing, and have a delightful time!” He pointed a finger at Sammy with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Sometimes, people don’t fit that narrative, but I believe in talking things out before cutting ties!”  
  
“I don’t follow.”  
  
Joey Drew glared up at Sammy. “Now, Sammy, I think you do.”  
  
“I don’t.” He did.  
  
That classic Joey smile returned, wide and cruel. “We try to keep things family friendly, something fun for all ages!” Joey tilted his head down to pin Sammy with angry eyes and made his move. “So, having a queer on staff wouldn’t fit in here, don’t you think?”  
  
Were he a new hire and not a veteran to this mans crap, the musician would be shaking. But Sammy had carved this song-and-dance into very marrow of his bones long ago. “Not sure where you got that idea, Joey, but I didn’t take you to be so petty. I don’t care what someone does in their own life, so long as they do their job. Who do you think’s like that?”  
  
Mister Drew didn’t like that, it seemed! The man’s cheeks flushed red at being dodged in his accusation. “Lawrence, you know.”  
  
He scoffed. “I know I was called up here to discuss the score for Sent From Above and not the inner lives of staff.”  
  
“You know damn well who it is, and I’m telling you I won’t stand for it! Someone in the musical department’s-”  
  
“If it’s in my department, Mister Drew-” The blond crossed his arms at the shorter man- “Then let me handle it. Those silly cartoon songs don’t write themselves.”  
  
“I don’t like your tone, Samuel.”  
  
“Well, I plain don’t like you, Drew.” Smirk turned sneer. “Don’t you have a luncheon to get to? You gave it a whole memo last week, so it must be more important than witch hunting. Don’t want to keep your precious investors waiting.”  
  
Joey slammed a fist on the desk and shouted, “I’ll fire you here and now, Lawrence! I’ll have you blacklisted in every film company on the roster! No one’ll hire a-”  
  
Ice blue eyes turned glacial as Sammy leaned closer. “And you’ll never find a music director stubborn enough or talented enough to deal with your shit if you do.” A razor sharp grin split his face. “Unless you want to repeat how things went after Henry left. How many people did you need to hire to replace him again?”  
  
Joey sneered, about trembling with rage, but cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders. “Best get back to your music, Sammy.” He turned his back to the musician and straightened his tie, using the glass of the framed portrait of himself as a mirror. He smoothed a hand over his hair, slicking it back into place. “Don’t want your underlings thinking you’re slacking.”  
  
He left without another word. There was no need; Both knew where their paths would go if the one pushed the other on the topic again. Stalemates weren’t losses if you walked away alive.  
  
Still… this required action. Protecting himself. Throwing Joey’s more loyal dogs off his scent. Sammy Lawrence decided that Susie’s offer to go to dinner was an excellent idea. Hell, while he was at it, he’d add a bottle of good wine! Sammy knew how to make a woman happy! He just wished he liked women as much as they liked him so he could stop wondering why it was taking so long to return those feelings. Oh well, for all he knew, Susie Campbell was the one to set him straight._  
  
Sammy gave a breathless stumble forward as the memory and the pain it brought ended. He held up a hand and clasped one of his knees with the other. “I know that song.”  
  
Henry furrowed his brows and hefted the axe. “Everyone knows that song.”  
  
He spun on the man, so tense the wrong move would snap him clean in half. “I _wrote_ that song. For Susie, but that’s…that’s not her voice-” The splinters of memory stabbed at him time and again. “He replaced her. She’d only been in three cartoons before getting cut!” Sammy grit his jaw and grasped a pipe nearby. “Susie blamed me for some of it! I had no say in what games Joey played!” He let out a hoarse cry and slammed his head into the nearest toy machine. “He lured her like a spider trapping flies but _I’m_ the liar!” He slammed his head again at the final word.  
  
“Sammy!” Henry held the man by a strap and a shoulder. “Sammy, stop.”  
  
The prophet easily pulled free and tried again. Inked fingers left dents in the pliable parts of his scalp and he let out a scream. Frozen with the memory of what befell Susie.  
  
Henry took a chance and grabbed the taller man around the middle and fell back onto his butt. Sammy may have been strong, but Henry was stubborn and heavy as anything.  
  
“It’s not my fault he deceived her!” Sammy kicked his legs wildly and cried out “Release me!”  
  
Henry grunted as the kicking forced the breath from his lungs. “Only-if you don’t hurt yourself!”  
  
“Let go!”  
  
“No more hitting!”  
  
“ _Henry!_ ” He writhed, but the cartoonist was strong. “Fine! Just let go!”  
  
He did, and Sammy fell forward with a heavy thump.  
  
Henry, his front coated in ink, stayed where he was. Good that Sammy hadn’t bolted, bad that his reaction was so visceral. What the hell had that dark humming stirred up?  
  
The ink man stayed on hands and elbows. His fists clenched tight enough to make the faintest straining noises. But Sammy… _heaved_. He had no lungs to gasp with, but his humanity took the reins. “I… used her to hide parts of myself I hated.” She wasn’t the first woman he’d done that to. “She didn’t care. My attentions gave her delight.” His head dipped until the horns of the mask touched the floor. “Until Joey gave her something more substantial.” Joey didn’t have to fake the things Susie wanted to be real. Sammy did. “Joey… lured her here. He told her she could bring Alice Angel to life.” He rolled onto his side and went limp. “I didn’t see it. I heard it. Everything. A voice so heavenly should never scream like that.” He pulled his limbs in tighter. “That’s not Susie Campbell anymore.” He remembered a vibrant and driven voice actress. Temptress when she had her eye on someone or something. “That’s not even her voice.”  
  
Henry had sat and listened, weathered face a mask of concern. He nodded, the ink on his shirt and skin drying to a tacky, itchy patina. “How many people did Joey lure here?”  
  
“Too many.”  
  
The cartoonist scowled, but not at Sammy.  
  
“Knowing that I caused what happened to Buddy, I wonder…”  
  
Henry peered at Sammy over his glasses. “Wonder what?”  
  
“Wonder what you thought when you read what he wrote.” Sammy turned his mask to him slowly, voice small. “How you can stand to be in the same room as I.”  
  
Oh. “Sammy. I knew you back in the days before this place plunged into hell. The person who drank ink and threw people to the machine? That’s not the you I considered a friend.” When the ink man didn’t respond, Henry sighed. “I want my friend back.”  
  
The phrasing gave him enough to sit up. Sammy worked his long limbs under himself to stand. He rolled upwards, not quite having bones that’d make it hard to move that way. He then reached down to Henry. If Henry was willing to hold him down to keep him from harming himself, then giving him a hand up should have been fine. His inky shell didn’t repulse the cartoonist. That… felt good.  
  
Henry grasped the hand, alarmed not by the slick, tarry wetness but the dull coldness. Like touching a steel pan and feeling the warmth of his own palm give it heat. How the hell was Sammy not cold in just overalls? He pushed the thoughts aside and stood. “Come on.” He smirked ruefully. “We have a date with an angel.”  
  
The ink man scoffed. “I’ll wear my formal mask.”

/


	7. Sept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Angel has tasks for the trio.

**The Angel has tasks for the trio.**

**\**  
  
Sammy held an Alice Angel doll with both hands and gave it a small squeeze. It made no noise, which was a bit of a letdown. The wide-set eyes and passive smile reminded him a bit of a cow. But Alice Angel was supposed to be _pretty_. He shrugged and set it back on the pile.  
  
Henry was pulling toys from the gears of the toy machine, pausing to give the Bendy doll in his grip a squeeze. It let out a tiny, sharp squeak that made him smile. Setting the little thing down, he pulled the lever.  
  
Sammy jumped at the sudden movement of the shelves and stepped backwards. He shot the cartoonist a look. “Warn me next time, little sheep.”  
  
Henry chuckled. “Well, heads up; the angel-” He pulled again, and the door to the dressing room was revealed- “is through that door.”  
  
Sammy cocked his head, then turned to the desk and bowl. The ink-Bendy in the bowl quivered and undulated, but not much else. The ink man shook his head. “Thick ink.”  
  
Henry approached from the right and gave the ink an exceedingly gentle tap. It popped back up to take the form of Boris in toy form. He tapped it again, and it popped up as Alice. “One loop, I spent a good hour poking this lump.”  
  
“It’s an entertaining lump.” But his focus was back on the door. The door to her room. “What happens when you go in there?”  
  
Henry frowned, watching the floor. “The angel plays a tune, jumps up, smashes a window… then I’m sent on a couple errands…” Then Buddy was ripped away from him.  
  
Sammy noticed. How could he not notice the sadness that creased Henry’s eyes when he talked about this part of the loop? He stepped closer. “After that?”  
  
“… the crash.” Henry swallowed. Hundreds of loops and losing Buddy always hurt like hell. “I lose Buddy to the Angel, and she turns him into a brute.”  
  
Sammy hummed lowly. “That is why I avoid her best I can, other than her blasphemy. Her malice… it’s not like that which m- which Bendy gives.” He’d almost slipped. Almost called the Ink Demon his lord once more. He’d been doing well, but old habits died harder than the human before him.  
  
Henry smirked. “Malice Angel.”  
  
Sammy chuckled. “That’s dreadful. I like it.”  
  
The cartoonist headed for the door to the dressing room, but paused. He glanced at Sammy over his shoulder. “You can stay out here if you want to.. although, she usually heads out that door after the lights go out… I think?” It occurred then that he didn’t know what happened after the lights went out. So many loops in, he should, shouldn’t he?  
  
Tempting offer, but hiding wouldn’t help Henry. “I’ll… try, little sheep.”  
  
With a nod, Henry turned the knob and headed into the space. The lights went out, and the screens came on.  
  
 _I'm the cutest little angel, sent from above, and I know just how to swing.  
I got a bright little halo, and I'm filled with love...  
I'm Alice Angel!_  
  
Henry glanced back at the open doorway, shooting Sammy a ‘last chance’ look.  
  
The ink man stepped into the room without a second thought. He could do this! He could definitely do this.  
  
 _I'm the hit of the party, I'm the belle of the ball, I'm the toast of every town.  
Just one little dance, and I know you'll fall...  
I'm Alice Angel!_  
  
A light clicked on to frame the door behind the glass in a circle of limelight. Henry set his jaw and walked forwards. He couldn’t hear Sammy behind him, but the ink man wasn’t far.  
  
 _I ain't no flapper, I'm a classy dish, and boy, can this girl sing.  
This gal can grant your every wish. _  
  
Twin fists of black slammed into the glass and the amalgam behind it shrieked “I’m Alice Angel!” in a two-toned voice. The twisted angel screamed wordlessly and slammed into the glass so it shattered, and she plunged the toy room into darkness.  
  
A cruel chuckled bounced around the room. _"I see you there. A new fly in my endless web… and it’s made a friend.”_ She cooed the last sentence in a way that made Henry’s skin crawl. He could feel her cold, humid breath against the back of his neck. _“Come along now._ _Let's see if you're worthy to walk with angels."_  
  
When the lights came up, the two were alone. The glass before the dressing room lay open and jagged.  
  
Sammy turned to Henry and spoke lowly. “ _Definitely_ Susie Campbell. Had enough dramatic flare.”  
  
“You good?”  
  
“Ha. In this place…” The musician shook his head slowly. “Who could be alright in this place?”  
  
“I don’t know… but I’ve fallen three floors and walked away, so…” Henry smiled. “I might not be the best example.”  
  
“You’re the exception that proves the rule,” he said, giving Henry’s hand a squeeze… _hold it_. When had he done that? Sammy looked down at their hands and felt the impending sense of violation. Who was he to grab his savior’s hand like this?  
  
But Henry wasn’t Bendy. Henry didn’t so much as raise his voice. In fact, he squeezed the cool, black hand in his. “You got startled. It’s fine.”  
  
“... is it?”  
  
The cartoonist shrugged.  
  
The prophet let go. _Bad prophet._ _That is not allowed._ Before Sammy could ruminate as to why he wasn’t allowed to do something as _simple_ as holding hands, Henry had moved on.  
  
“Okay. Up ahead we meet up with Boris. After that, Butcher Gang.” He shook his head a little. “Not sure who picked that name. Wasn’t me.”  
  
Sammy followed some steps behind, looking back and forth between the crossroads. “Which one do we take?”  
  
“You pick. They lead to the same place.”  
  
“Mm…” He turned right and headed down the Angel path. “Seems appropriate, don’t you think?”  
  
The cartoonist smiled faintly. “If you say so.”  
  
“Come along, little sheep.”  
  
“I’m coming. Keep your pants on.”  
  
Sammy huffed a laugh. It was almost too easy to fall back into it with Henry. He brought with him an air of calm and normalcy… But normalcy meant dropping walls, and in this sepia-toned nightmare, he couldn’t do that. Not with the Ink Demon still very much active. A tape recorder on a discarded desk caught his attention. “Who’s on this one?”  
  
Henry frowned. “Susie Campbell. It’s not good.”  
  
“Good or not, I need to know. At least if I’m going to remember anything other than you and Mister Drew.” Sammy pressed an inked fingertip to the play button and waited.  
  
Susie’s tear-choked voice rattled from the speaker. _“Everything feels like it's coming apart. When I walked into the recording booth today, Sammy was there with that... Allison. Apparently, I didn't get the memo. Alice Angel will now be voiced by Miss Allison Pendle. A part of me died when he said that. There's gotta be a way to fix this!"_ The tape ended with a click.  
  
Hands flexing absently, the musician turned to Henry, suddenly hunched and ready to bolt. “If the twisted angel remembers me as an ass, it’s no wonder she-”  
  
 _-arrive at half-past six, dinner at seven, dropped off by eight. That’d be enough. Maybe Susie’d find him a boring workaholic and let him be, maybe she’d be want to do this again. Both worked for Sammy; it’d only benefit him to be seen with an attractive woman, coworker or not. How could he not find her attractive? Susie had the loveliest set of green eyes he’d ever seen, framed by waves of black hair. Flapper body with more substance, perfect for holding close or for dancing. Tall enough that he didn’t have to stoop to get close. And such a heavenly singing voice…  
  
So why did this feel empty? He had the actions, but the effort was merely effort. But Susie was different. An artist of her craft, and a singing voice that’d knocked him off his feet. If this went further than a single night, then all the better!  
  
Sammy put on his best smile and knocked on the apartment door. It was 3C, right?  
  
His answer came with the slide of a deadbolt and the door cracking open.  
  
Sammy held out the daffodils and raised his brows. “Miss Campbell, I hope I’m not too early.”  
  
Susie beamed up at him and pushed open the door. The dress draped her form wonderfully. “Not at all, mister Lawrence. Come right in.”  
  
He stepped past the threshold to her small, neat apartment. Only the best for those who worked under Mister Drew. “You’re out here by yourself? Doesn’t seem safe for a single lady.” He crossed to the kitchenette, fingers idly drumming the paper of the bouquet.  
  
“Oh, I’m no pushover. Trust me.” She took the flowers as she passed, ghosting her left hand across his back. “I’ll just set these in water.” From beneath the sink, she pulled out a small, green vase and held it under the faucet.  
  
The cold tap squeaked out a sour B-sharp. Sammy fought a wince, taking in the view. Susie hadn’t gone all out, but she had done more for her appearance than when at work. Work was a long skirt and conservative blouse. The dress was simple but elegant, the epitome of a little black dress.  
  
Her giggle broke the trance. Susie turned and gave a painted scarlet smile. “I take it I clean up good?” she asked as she sauntered to the small counter that jutted from the wall.  
  
“Absolutely.” Bracing himself on the counter, the blonde smiled. “What is that scent you’re wearing?”  
  
Susie giggled and peered up through her thick lashes. “Tabu. You like it?”  
  
Sammy leaned down, just out of reach of touching her. He didn’t want to seem too forward. “I love it. It suits you.”  
  
“Mm, I’d hoped so…” Standing on tiptoe, she grasped the collar of his shirt and tugged just enough to ghost his cheek with her sweet breath. “Wanna know what else is taboo?”  
  
…well! He hadn’t even needed the wine! “Being late for dinner?”  
  
Her laugh was as musical as anything. “Try again, darling.”  
  
“I’ve got an idea,” Sammy chuckled and slid his hands around her back. The silk of her dress was cold until he pinned it between the flesh of his palm and the warmth of her back. “Why don’t you lead?”  
  
Susie winked and lead him to the back room -the bedroom, he realized- and her giggle dipped low and hungry. Her hot hands roamed, slinking downwards with a teasing slowness, tugging to free his tucked shirt...  
  
… he let her. He was supposed to enjoy this level of attention, especiall_ _y_ _from such a-_  
  
“...charming woman.” The ink man slumped forward and just barely caught himself on the wall. The pained prickles of ice picks against his brain made the room spin. Even sitting, the room spun on and on. “Lord, help me-” He heaved but nothing came up. The lazy swirls of ink that covered him swirled like whirlpools of ancient myth. Why couldn’t he calm down? Why did that one _hurt_ so much?  
  
“Sammy!” Henry sank down next to his companion and balanced with the axe blade to the floor. “Can you look at me?”  
  
The broken Bendy mask turned to him, and a hand reached up and lay itself on his shoulder. Tar black ink seeped into the fabric.  
  
“I was _awful_. I used her to hide, she used me to climb. We both fell into the dark.” Sammy dropped his hand and leaned back, gasping without lungs, but let out a half sob.  
  
He had no idea what to say. He didn’t know what Sammy saw in his flashback or just what the hell he meant. So he stayed put.  
  
It took a minute, but Sammy’s breathing slowed. Why that memory felt like barbed wire dragged through his heart, he didn’t know. For now they had to keep moving, keep on this path Henry had forged. “... think I can move again.”  
  
“Need help?”  
  
“...yes.” _My Lord_ churned in the prophet’s head like a raging tide. _My Lord so patient so melancholy such a beacon of light my savior our savior he will set us-_  
  
The cartoonist stood and stuck out his hand, which Sammy took and was pulled to his feet. Henry didn’t let go just yet. “Does this help?”

“Help.”

“Help keep you grounded. Here, not back there?”  
  
He nodded. The warmth, the faint thrum of the pulse beneath the skin, it grounded him. And, if Henry had offered, it must have been fine. His grip stopped the racing need to praise, at any rate.  
  
Henry tugged, and the two moved forward. “Buddy’s up ahead. He tries to scare me with a Bendy cutout.”  
  
“Ah.” No sooner than the corner came into view did that very thing happen.  
  
“Almost got me, Buddy.” Henry said warmly. He relaxed the hand in Sammy’s grip and headed the clone’s way. “Got anything either of us might need?”  
  
Buddy smiled and leaned around the corner, presenting Sammy with the Gent pipe.  
  
It felt nice to have a weapon.  
  
“Alright. Now, Buddy heads to that lever, I flip the other.” Henry scowled. “There’s a butcher gang clone behind a poster of the same name. I jump even though I know it’s coming.”  
  
Sammy perked a little. “I’ll get the lever.” He hefted the pipe and tilted his head. “Might help solidify where we are, my little sheep.”  
  
Henry nodded, brows furrowed. “If you say so, Sammy.” He pointed the way to go.  
  
The ink man thumped down the hall and searched for the poster in question. Some hideous knock-off startling his sheep would not stand. He spied it and approached quickly.  
  
A ripping of paper let the gargling, open-mouthed thing tumble out to the floor. It barely had the chance to stand and hobble his way before Sammy struck it down. Not the wild flailing he’d done so many times when he’d thought Henry was the Ink Demon, but the tight, outraged blows of a man aware enough to understand how screwed up his life had become.  
  
Sammy missed the madness almost as much as he liked Henry. The clone gargled again and lay still, melting back into ink. That… felt fantastic. “Little sheep, the beast is dead.”  
  
Henry leaned into view, brows up. “Good job. Pull the lever.”  
  
He did, beaming mouthlessly behind the Bendy mask. Good shepherds protected their flock. He got to the man and headed towards the elevator.  
  
 _"You're so interesting... so different. I have to say, I'm an instant fan… despite the rabble you’re with. Looks like you've got a date with an angel!”_ The elevator creaked open, Buddy already making his way inside. _“Come to me now. Level Nine. Just follow the screams."  
_  
Sammy groaned and stomped to the elevator, the prophet in him taking a back seat at the taunting reached his ears. “I’m _rabble_. Can you believe the nerve?”  
  
“She swore a blue streak once. I almost went deaf.” Henry _never_ struck down an Alice Angel cutout after that one.  
  
“I’ll pass.”  
  
“Give it time. Sure she’ll find something.”  
  
The elevator doors shut, and the group traveled in the shaky elevator to the angel’s true domain.

/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stares at kudos and hit count* No pressure. O_O Nope. No pressure at all.


	8. Huit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trio has a job to do.

**The trio has a job to do.**

\

  
  
 _"Come on, step out of your cage. There's a whole twisted world out here."_  
  
Buddy took off at a loping sprint, as always. Seemed he was eager to get it over with.  
  
Henry sighed and headed to the stairs. “Here we go. Errand boy at her service.”  
  
Sammy cocked his head. “Errand boy? That’s what she calls you?”  
  
“Yup.” The two men stepped through the double doors and down the path to the corpse display. “Has a little speech and everything.”  
  
“I detect annoyance, little sheep.”  
  
“If you had to run around the lower floors of the studio to gather parts for her, you’d be annoyed, too.”  
  
Sammy shrugged and followed close behind. “Fair point…” He slowed at what lay beyond. Dozens of clone Boris’s, gouged apart and flayed open, eviscerated like frogs in a lab. He’d seen plenty of nightmares in this place, but there was always something around the corner to remind him just how hopeless this situation was.  
  
 _Was._ Until Henry came.  
  
Buddy had paused before the nearest clone, pie-cut eyes worried. He’d been here before. It felt like a dream and he couldn’t remember everything, but he knew these poor clones were a warning. A sign to turn back and hide. Tempting, but that’d mean Henry was alone with the Prophet. He could work with the Prophet if it helped Henry, but he’d rather go a day without soup than leave them alone for long.  
  
 _"Look around. It took so many of them to make me so beautiful. Anything less than perfect was left behind. I had to do it. She made me."_  
  
Henry walked the planks to the next room, glancing over his shoulder at Sammy. “You can stay with Buddy or come with me.”  
  
The ink man headed for the rails before the ink pool and vaulted himself over the side to stand on the joining of two boards. He’d cut Henry off.  
  
“You wanna lead?”  
  
“Maybe.” He turned and headed to the next set of doors, his strides long and precise.  
  
Henry blinked, peering over his glasses. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Sammy was showing off. “Alright. That tape is another from Susie. I don’t want you falling in, so maybe you can skip that one?”  
  
Sammy didn’t even look at the tape and kept walking. “Noted. I’ve had my fill of _Susie_ for the time being.”  
  
The doors up ahead parted, and Sammy headed inside without slowing down.  
  
Henry turned to look back at Buddy. The wolf perked a little and waved their way, the Gent pipe firmly in one hand.  
  
Okay. Buddy was fine. For now, just fine. Maybe he could still keep the wolf in one piece. Given this loop and how it was going almost _too_ smoothly-  
  
“Henry.” The musician’s voice was calm and questioning, the broken mask fixated on the man.  
  
The cartoonist shook himself and adjusted the axe. “Right.” No sense delaying.  
  
Through the doors and down a ways, the twisted angel stood proudly in her operating room. A malformed piper lay strapped to an upright table like the Boris clones outside.  
  
The angel’s attention turned to the two of them, her mismatched gaze flicking back and forth between the two of them before she hummed in thought. _"Hm. Now we come to the question... Do I kill you?… Do I tear you apart to my heart's delight? The choices of the beautiful are unbearable. How's a girl to choose?”_ The Butcher clone strapped down grunted as the angel raised her voice at it. _“Take this little freak, for instance! He crawled in here... Trailing his tainted ink to my door! It could have touched me! It could have pulled me back!! Do you know what it's like? Living in the dark puddles? It's a buzzing, screaming well of voices! Bits of your mind, swimming... like... like fish in a bowl! The first time I was born from its inky womb, I was a wriggling, pussing, shapeless slug.”_  
  
She uncurled from herself slightly and stared hard at Sammy. _“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, false prophet? But the second time... well... It made me an angel! I will not let the demon touch me again. I'm so close now. So... almost perfect. Yes. I will spare you. For now. Better yet... I'll even let you ascend and leave this place. If you will do a few eensy, weensy little favors for me first. Return to the lift, my little errand boy. We have work to do!"_ The steel shutters closed, and the screeches of the poor piper poured from beyond.  
  
Sammy cleared his throat. “Well… you were wrong about her speech being _little_.”  
  
“Hearing it hundreds of times… the whole thing runs together.” Henry sighed and turned back to the way they came. “All of this runs together.”  
  
“Little sheep, what's troubling you?” Other than everything.  
  
Henry glanced over his shoulder with a wince. “You’ll have to narrow it down, there’s a lot to go over.”  
  
... okay. Henry was cynical when upset. He could work with that, so long as he remembered that _Henry was not Bendy. Henry would not harm him._ “Is it the tasks themselves? Or their outcome?”  
  
“Outcome.”  
  
“Which is?”  
  
Henry paused, setting his jaw and hazel gaze on the ink below the boards. “The parts I gather for her go into turning him-” he gestured with his head at the wolf across the inky pond- “Into a brute. And, I have no way to avoid that outcome if I can’t get him to hide before the crash.”  
  
“... I’m sorry.”  
  
“Not your fault.”  
  
“In a way, it is. My hands are stained by more than just ink.”  
  
Henry decided a subject change was in order, if the lump forming in his throat was any sign. “That reminds me. What would happen if you fell in? I mentioned it earlier, but you don’t have to answer.”  
  
“Good question. I’m not as stable as Malice Angel...” Sammy placed a curled finger to the mouth of the mask. “... I could jump in and find out.”  
  
“Please don’t.”  
  
“No, no, I bet I could breaststroke to the other side without disintegrating.”  
  
“Please. No.” But he chuckled at the absurdity.  
  
Index and thumb tapped idly on the left hand while the right pointed. “Mm. Alright. But I can assure you I’m an excellent swimmer. I think.” Thinking back, the prophet wasn’t sure he knew how to swim in his old life… but he knew he had liked the beach! “Best not to risk it.” He might lose his fingers. The two crossed the ink pond and headed out. Buddy happily took off towards the elevator.  
  
Once outside the twisted angel’s inner sanctum, the doors snapped shut and her voice called out. _“My machines are hungry. Gather me some spare parts.”_ The dispenser turned to show a wrench, as always.  
  
Sammy took the wrench and spun it in his hand. He could work with this rather than the pipe. Maybe Buddy having a weapon would make Henry feel a little better.  
  
Henry rolled his shoulders as he made his way to the elevator. “She wants three gears. I know where they are.” The doors shuttered, and they were all on their way. Finding the gears on level K was the easier of the tasks, but the angel didn’t give anyone peace and quiet. She likely hadn’t had a captive audience that was intelligent enough to know what she was saying in some time.  
  
 _"Have you met him? The Ink Demon? They say he hears everything. Every creak of the floor. Every rustle of paper. I wouldn't run so fast if I were you, you never know what will draw him in."_  
  
“...how true is that?” Henry asked, gaze on Sammy. “You said you can sense Him, but is any of what she said true?”  
  
Sammy wiggled the fingers of his free hand, trying to word it in his head. “It’s… yes and no. He _can_ hear everything, but doesn’t _care_ about most of it. If you heard the screams of the damned and the flow of ink for decades, you’d learn to block it out. It’s volume, really. Do anything quietly enough, he won’t care you’re doing it.” He shrugged as they left the elevator.  
  
“That why you played the banjo outside the booth?”  
  
“... maybe.”  
  
“I liked it. Fell asleep to it.” Sammy Lawrence was a talented man, even with a body coated in ink.  
  
“I’ll play for you any time you want.” He paused at the gargling of a clone that ran their way. Spying the gear it held, the ink man raced at it with the wrench held high and struck it down. The thing melted away as he plucked the gear from the ground. “One down.”  
  
Henry walked past the ink man and grabbed the other gear laying on the floor. “Last one’s in the back.” The cartoonist decided it best to not mention how the twisted angel would usually speak of Sammy at this point. Had this been any other loop, without Sammy here to help him, he’d be relieved at the sudden change. The twisted angel had made it clear that most, if not all, were beneath her, but her focus on Sammy hadn’t caught his attention until now. Or, her lack of focus, seeing as she hadn’t mentioned him as a good liar at all this loop.  
  
He flicked the box open with his thumb; the gear was sitting comfortably where it usually did.  
  
What he didn’t expect was a searcher to spring from the nearest puddle and swing at his knees to knock him to the floor. Henry let out a sharp cry and fell back. A splatter of ink against his cheek made him flinch as the searcher lunged for him again and slammed a fist against his sternum. Henry wheezed and struck out with his axe, only for a third blow from the searcher to crack against his skull and plunge him into the darkness.  
  
The tunnel had never been the scary part. Even the first time, it wasn’t scary. It brought a sense of calm akin to the wave of ease that came after an adrenaline rush wore off. The whispers were things heard before. The light was almost like the sun. The tunnel was never the scary part.  
  
The scary part of coming back to life was that he was right back in the place that’d killed him. He never had a chance to recuperate or breathe.  
  
But this time, Sammy’s overall-clad backside greeted him.  
  
“Back! Back!” The prophet bellowed, his stance firmly placing the injured man between his feet. He swung the axe and connected the blade with the swiftly retreating searcher. “Try that again and I will send you to the Ink Demon myself!” He kicked the puddle hard, a jagged splash coating the wall. He turned to the slowly bubbling puddles in the corners. “That goes for you as well! For _all_ of you! We do not harm this man! Let it be known he is mine!”  
  
Henry remained on the floor, bent awkwardly but no longer horribly mangled. “Sammy.”  
  
The Bendy mask snapped downwards. “Little sheep, you’ve awoken.” He stepped carefully away and drummed his fingers on the axe handle.  
  
“How long was I down?”  
  
The drumming slowed in thought. “I’m not sure. Long enough for me to think you wouldn’t be back.”  
  
Henry rolled onto his front and slowly stood up. “Let’s get back. I got the gear.”  
  
Sammy nodded and turned to the stairs, still holding the axe.  
  
Henry raised a brow. “Can I have that back?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“You’re serious.”  
  
“Very.” The prophet plodded down the stairs, shoulders hunching as he spoke. “I let you out of my sight for a _second_ and you get yourself killed. No, my little sheep, that will not due.”  
  
The older man sighed and followed him into the elevator. “You’re a good shepherd, Sammy, but I’m not defenseless. That searcher got the drop on me. It happens.”  
  
“Tell that to your caved in skull.”  
  
His brows shot up. He’d felt something crack, but he hadn’t thought it was _that_ severe. It explained why Sammy was worked up.  
  
The prophet’s posture tightened, as did his grip on the axe. “Forgive me if I’m distressed at seeing that.” His tone crept towards the petulant anger he displayed down in the Lost Harbor. “If I can prevent it, I _will_ prevent it.”  
  
Henry frowned and hit the button to travel to level Nine. “I’ve done this before. That searcher wasn’t new. It caught me because they rarely show up right there.”  
  
A shudder and the elevator moved. Sammy turned to face Henry. “New or not-” he thumped the head of the axe into his hand- “I _won’t_ stand by.”  
  
The cartoonist let out a sigh. “Where’s the pipe?”  
  
Buddy, who’d stood back and watched with pinned ears, tapped Henry’s shoulder. He held out the pipe with his other hand. The wrench stuck out from a pocket in his overalls.  
  
“Thanks.” His focus was back on Sammy.  
  
Sammy stayed tensed and glaring at the walls that moved outside the cage.  
  
/  
  
The syringe was a terrible weapon, but it beat not having one. It took plenty of convincing to get Sammy to stay out of the way and let the cartoonist just do this on his own. It’s not that Henry didn’t appreciate the ink man’s desire to keep him whole, but Henry could handle this. He’d done it hundreds of times.  
  
Though, considering the holes Sammy’s gaze burned into his back? The ink man wasn’t pleased at all. But for Henry, it’d only slow things down if Sammy told every searcher to get lost if it got too close.  
  
“That’s done.” He set the full syringe into the bin and awaited what the angel’s next command. It wasn’t much of a wait.  
  
 _"I'll make this simple. Look for valve panels. Turn the little wheels. Then bring me their power cores. Please don't make me regret sparing you. I can always change my mind."_  
  
There sat the plunger. Not wanting to snub the angel and possibly set her off, he took it and headed for the stairs. At Sammy’s confused tilt of the head, he shook the plunger a bit. “This thing? This says she has a sense of humor.” He frowned at the object and stepped into the elevator. “I just don’t get the joke.”  
  
“Mm. What now?”  
  
“Power cores. Level P.” He didn’t turn to face Sammy, but glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. He liked to think he could read the ink man at least a bit, even after such a brief period this close. “Wanna put that axe to use?”  
  
“... maybe.”  
  
He pressed the button and away they went. “Then come with me. There are always searchers and Butcher clones breathing down my neck out there.”  
  
“Gladly.” He hoisted the axe to rest blade out over his shoulder.  
  
They landed and Buddy, as always, stayed back. He never left the elevator. Sammy could sympathize; avoiding certain doom when safety was dull but within reach.  
  
The ink man strode out of the cage first, axe at the ready. Sammy hoped being out and moving before Henry would give the searchers a chance to think twice about attacking.  
  
False hope, since the first puddle sprang to life and crawled their way in an instant.  
  
“Back!” He barked, the axe raised.  
  
The searcher paused, jaw working to form garbled nonsense.  
  
Sammy stomped a boot at the poor thing. “I _said_ back to your puddle!”  
  
The searcher hissed and scuttled back into the ink. Who knew ink could glare?  
  
“Huh.” Henry stood shoulder to shoulder with Sammy. “Didn’t know they could understand speech.” They mostly stared at him whenever he tried to communicate. He strode towards the trio of pipes and turned the wheels, and soon enough the side panel popped open. The cartoonist offered the core to Sammy. “Wanna trade?”  
  
“Some can.” The two turned the corner to find another burbling puddle. Sammy prodded it with the handle of the axe. When no one popped out, they kept going. “Most can’t. Nice try, my little sheep.” Movement from inside the vestibule caught his attention. A Butcher clone stumbled out of a doorway and growled as it hurtled towards them. The set of teeth atop its head chattered as it grew close.  
  
The human walked around the ink man with a scowl and raised the pipe. “Striker. I’ve got it.” Henry raised the Gent pipe and swung, once, twice, thrice, plop. Nothing but an ink puddle and a power core. He smiled at Sammy over his shoulder. “There we go.”  
  
“Striker.”  
  
The cartoonist fully turned to Sammy and shrugged.  
  
“You gave them names?”  
  
Henry smiled sheepishly and bent to grab the power core. “Not much else to do around here.” He hissed through his teeth and froze just as his grip closed around the core.  
  
Sammy was on him in a second. “Are you alright?”  
  
“Nng… yeah. Never better.” He grinned but it turned sour soon as he straightened, core in hand. “Bad back. Been like that since the war.”  
  
“You were… in the war?” He didn’t know why that shocked him. Plenty of young men got drafted, but Henry didn’t seem the kind to be out on the front lines.  
  
The man peered at Sammy over his glasses. “You remember the war?”  
  
“Only that I wasn’t able to serve. Too old.”  
  
“Heh. I was _just_ young enough.” The sharp pain eased to a dull throb, and Henry got back to it. “Last core is this way.”  
  
The duo finished the task in silence and returned to the elevator. Buddy waved upon their return.  
  
Sammy held out a hand to Henry, palm up.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“I can take the cores.”  
  
He huffed. “I’m fine.”  
  
“Henry.”  
  
“I’m good.” His back still hurt like hell, though.  
  
Sammy flexed his fingers, tilting his head down. “Give them here. I have pockets.”  
  
“So do I!”  
  
“Mine are... bigger,” he offered lamely.  
  
Buddy laughed silently in the corner.  
  
“Christ.” But he chuckled at the ink man and passed the cores his way. If it made Sammy feel better, he didn’t see a reason to complain.  
  
The angel’s voice crackled as the elevator sank back to where she remained. _"You're quite the efficient duo, aren't you?"_ Her smile-laced voice sunk low in her throat. _“Though, it’s obvious who the better half is, don’t you agree?”_  
  
The ink man slumped at the shoulders, the broken mask facing Henry. “Always something to say, that one.”  
  
The cartoonist smiled faintly. “Oh, she says a lot more when it’s just me.”  
  
Sammy chuckled lightly. “Trying to drive a wedge between us, little sheep.” Charcoal fingers drummed the handle of the axe. “She, Susie… she did that often enough, if she thought it’d help her career. She didn’t think people could tell when she was playing with them.”  
  
“Sounds taxing.”  
  
The ink man tilted his head back, shoulders lax. “Taxing as holy hell, Henry.”  
  
The elevator doors opened, and the pair headed to the Angel’s doors. Sammy dropped the cores in the bin and rolled his shoulders. What could the mad angel want of them next?  
  
Henry shot the ink man a look. He’d only just realized how this next task could go. “You might wanna stay in the elevator for this one.”  
  
Sammy responded with a hand to his hip and a tilted head. “Now, Henry, I’m starting to think you’re trying to shake me.”  
  
“Never. But…” His brows pinched, and he adjusted his grip on the newly gained axe. “Feel free to hang out with Buddy.”  
  
The twisted Angel purred her demand. _“You see those grinning demons? Let's remove them, shall we? I've got just the tool to make this even more enjoyable."_  
  
The prophet tensed. “...ah. That explains it.” He fixed his gaze back onto Henry.  
  
“That’s why I offered.”  
  
Sammy looked back at the axe he held. “Well… down here, we’re _all_ sinners.” And last he’d checked, the Ink Demon kicked him across a room without hesitation. He scoured the room for cutouts. “How many?”  
  
“Fifteen.”  
  
He twirled the weapon once and caught it, perked but sounding sour. “Lets go, then.”  
  
If Henry didn’t know better, he’d think Sammy was having a blast bashing cutouts.  
  
They worked quickly enough, one cutout beside a miracle station in Heavenly Toys remaining. Henry scowled at it. “Don’t run off.” He swung hard and shattered the grinning chunk of cardboard with a hard swipe.  
  
“Why would I, little sheep?”  
  
 _"Ah, now that was fun! Oh! But I forgot to mention... He hates it when I do that. I would hide if I were you."_  
  
Sammy stared up at the nearest speaker. “Ah. That’s why.”  
  
Henry grabbed Sammy’s arm and pulled him to the miracle station against the wall. “In we go.”  
  
Sammy locked his knees and tried to argue. “There’s not enough room for-”  
  
“In.” Henry shoved Sammy into the box and followed suit. He’d have to stand and hunch over for it to work. Cramped, but alive!  
  
Sammy spread his legs to give Henry space enough to get the door shut. His thanks were the human’s torso pressing against his chest. It shocked him he could feel the faint but quick thudding of the man's heart.  
  
Henry glanced over his shoulder, one hand clenching the door shut. “You good back there? Able to breathe?”  
  
“Yes.” This wasn’t at all awkward, legs spread and forearms braced against the walls. He tapped a forefinger idly, focusing not on the warm body against his but on the cruel beast lurking nearby. He could sense the slow, plodding beast creeping out into the toy room. “Wait, what about Buddy?”  
  
“It’s never gone after Buddy. Is it close?” Pulsing rings of blackness drifted out and across the walls outside. Stains of ink bloomed like rippling mold. “Never mind.”  
  
In any other circumstance, Sammy would have laughed.

/


	9. Neuf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something screams in the dark.

**Something screams in the dark.**

**\**

  
  
Up on the walkway, appearing from just out of sight, The Ink Demon limped into view. Its club foot dragged its gait to an uneven crawl, perfect grin in place and unmoving. Motes of feathery black plumed up behind it with every step as it made its way to the stairs. Slow work, unless it wanted something.  
  
Sammy tensed as his ex-lord reached the floor they were hiding on. He wished for the trembling that was building in his limbs to fade, the terror to stop. The beast couldn’t get into the booths, Henry had said so. He’d seen it himself some loops back… but now, Sammy was on the opposing side of the Demon. No longer a worshiper but a pariah… all packed up in a gift box with a halo on top.  
  
Henry glared out at the demon, hazel eyes focused, even as Sammy’s cool body pressed damply to his back. It made sense now why the ink man had turned down hiding out with him not long ago; cramped… and Sammy seemed averse to being touched. But the matter at hand; the beast walking their way. The Ink Demon scanned the room, mismatched hands raised up and bent.  
  
Just before the Miracle Station, the Ink Demon paused. It growled low enough to be felt more than heard, cracking as it stood tall. Slowly, it looked into the rectangular slot in the miracle booth. It lacked eyes, but Henry could have sworn it was looking right at him, a scant foot away. From the depths of its being, the beast let out two, drawn out growls… then slammed its gloved hand on the miracle station hard enough that it shook. No sooner had it done so did it thunder out of the room, taking its rings and motes with it.  
  
Light returned to the room. Henry was acutely aware of the set of arms around his stomach. He sighed and patted an arm around his waist. “We’re good.”  
  
Sammy quickly let go and Henry stepped out of the station, then glanced around the room. In the hundreds of iterations, the Ink Demon had never done that.  
  
The ink man crept out of the darkness, shoulders hunched. His broken mask fixed back onto Henry, gripping his axe with a tremble in his wrist. The Ink Demon hadn’t scared him that deeply in some time. He usually bowed and stayed out of the way, silent save for prayers muttered to the floorboards. But now he was helping the supposed enemy. Who knew what could happen if the Ink Demon got him on his own. “I can’t say I want to do that again.” Two men and two axes did not a comfortable booth make!  
  
Henry frowned and nodded. “Something changed.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“It’s _never_ hit the booth.” At Sammy’s cocked head, he continued softly. “It knows I’m in one when I have to deal with the Projectionist, but that’s… I don’t wanna call it different, but it’s not like this.” He gave the ink man his full attention, brows furrowed over wide eyes. “Does it know when someone’s in a booth?”  
  
“I…” Sammy sighed, shoulders slumping. “I don’t know, my little sheep. I can’t see what it sees.”  
  
“... how does it even see? I can’t find eyes on it and I’ve had it in biting range.”  
  
“The cutouts. Don’t- don’t ask me how that works.”  
  
The cartoonist gave a strained smile. “It’s okay if you don’t know.”  
  
 _Henry was not the Ink Demon. Henry would not harm him._ Sammy sighed _._ “I don’t… but heaven knows, I wish I did.” The ink man lifted his head and tilted it in question. “What comes now?”  
  
Henry lifted his own axe, brows sinking in a frown. “Butcher clones and searchers on level nine.”  
  
“Again?”  
  
A nod. “Yup.”  
  
They headed back to the elevator. Buddy stood in the back, eyes covered and knees knocking like the devil himself was about to strike him down.  
  
“Buddy, it’s okay.”  
  
The wolf peeked at the two of them from a gap in his gloves, and slowly unfolded from his curled-up surrender.  
  
Sammy stepped into the elevator and carefully raised a hand to the wolf. “You’re alright?”  
  
Buddy nodded and pointed at Sammy with a cocked brow.  
  
The ink man nodded back, missing Henry’s fond smile aimed their way as he hit the button for level nine.  
  
The musician's left hand tapped out a waltz as he pondered. “What’s after this?”  
  
“Level fourteen with the Projectionist.”  
  
Sammy heaved a sigh. “Fantastic.” Funny how the memory of being ripped in half by that creature was one key to remembering Henry’s multiple loops. Sammy still didn’t want to deal with old light head, though.  
  
Level nine greeted them soon enough. Buddy as usual stayed behind in the lift, content to hang back and cover his eyes if spooked.  
  
Henry opened his mouth to say something but shut it as he headed to exchange the axe for a pipe. He had found that he could delay the inevitable and hold on to the axe for several minutes before the angel would snark at him, but now? There wasn’t a point to delaying it. He exchanged the axe for the pipe, and like clockwork, the angel shouted down at them.  
  
 _"The disgusting wretches have wandered my halls, have gone unchecked! They're trying to drag me back to the darkness! Don't let them take your angel! Purge them, one by one! Smash them into puddles! Kill them!"_  
  
Henry held the pipe ready and watched where he knew they’d come. “Get ready.”  
  
Sammy raised his axe and held it out to Henry. “Take it.”  
  
“Why-” Three monstrosities trundled down the steps and charged their way.  
  
“Take it!” He held his other arm out for the pipe.  
  
Henry traded without another protest and met the twisted trio head on with Sammy close behind. They waddled and jabbered, but they didn’t unnerve him like they used to. Nothing unnerved him anymore.  
  
The axe caught a striker between the teeth in its head, and it shattered into a puddle of black. Beside him, Sammy slammed the pipe into the piper chattering its teeth his way. It landed a blow to his knee and was silenced with a swing of the pipe and an indignant shout.  
  
The fisher knocked Henry backwards and charged; the head swinging wildly as it snapped its jaws at his face. He swung and made contact, launching the head several feet away. It still gnashed its teeth even as it blackened and flew through the air!  
  
Sammy charged and kicked the fisher with a growl before bashing it with a two-handed barrage of angry pipe blows. Still stood arched and ready to go another round, the ink man reached out a hand to Henry to help him stand.  
  
“I had him.” Henry took the cool, inky hand offered to him.  
  
Sammy grasped the warm hand of the cartoonist and hoisted him to his feet. “I’m sure you did.”  
  
 _"So quiet. Like a welcoming grave. I like the silence, don't you?"_  
  
“Can’t get a word in edge-wise.” He turned the broken Bendy mask to Henry with a gesture of surrender, arms spread and head at an angle. “She has to have the last word, doesn’t she?”  
  
“Just be glad she can’t hear us.” At least… he hoped she couldn’t. The cartoonist was already walking back down the steps and over to the elevator with Sammy close behind.  
  
The angel continued, her deep, burbling undercurrent rising from her throat. _"I hate leaving work unfinished! Fortunately, I have you two to pick up the pieces. But you'll have to go even deeper. Down, down, down, into the abyss. Take the lift down. Say hello to an old friend.”_  
  
Down they went. Funny, having someone to talk to who could speak back for once made Henry realize just how tedious the role of errand boy was. Soon, the Projectionist’s realm, one of blackness and screaming, came into sight. The elevator came to a halt, and Henry walked out, hazel eyes focused on the darkness out beyond the platform.  
  
 _"Shh... there he is. The Projectionist. Skulking in the darkness. You be sure to stay out of his light, if you don't want trouble. Just bring me back the pieces I need."_  
  
Hands on the rail, Henry grimaced at the dark. Out there, Norman Polk lumbered on, beam bright and seeing all. Below… ink. Deep ink that could harm or consume his companion. “Sammy?”  
  
“Sheep?”  
  
Henry glanced over his shoulder. “The ink goes to my knees. Can you handle that, or is it too much?”  
  
“You needn’t worry, little sheep. I can safely say I’m tougher than I look.” But the fact that he cared enough to ask warmed his nonexistent heart. Sammy headed into the ink, feeling the icy blackness press into the fabric of his overalls but not seep into it. Just what were those pants made of? He turned back to Henry. “What parts does Malice Angel need?”  
  
Henry reached for the heart resting on the dismembered Butcher clone on the barrel, eliciting a screech from far beyond his sight. “Hearts.”  
  
“How many?”  
  
Henry went down after him. “Five. Er, four at this rate.” He grimaced at Sammy and tucked the heart into his pocket. “The one good thing about the Projectionist is he forgets you’re there after you’re out of his light.”  
  
“That explains a lot, actually.” The musician trudged forward into the ink, turning over his shoulder to call to Henry. “Can he hear?”  
  
“Doubt it. If he can, he ignores it.”  
  
Sammy paused, then turned to the lumbering figure out in the dim dark. “Hey!” He called out, and immediately tensed, pipe raised.  
  
Henry sent him a flat look as he reached his side. “Really?”  
  
“I figure if he charged I could outrun him.” He pointed to the Projectionist still lumbering on. “But I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”  
  
Henry sighed. “Just… don’t tempt fate like that, okay?” Focus back on the task at hand, he trudged forward. “He’ll hunt for you when you get a hold of a heart, so be ready to run for a booth.”  
  
“Understood.”  
  
“And don’t… don’t play any tapes down here, okay? I know we joked about you falling in the ink before, but-”  
  
A cool hand rested on his shoulder, and he turned to see the broken Bendy mask a mere foot away.  
  
“My little sheep, you needn’t worry. Tempting fate clearly rubs you the wrong way,” the prophet purred, his grip tightening a fraction. “I’ll go right, you go left?”  
  
Henry cleared his throat. “Meet me at the bottom of the stairs.”  
  
“Can do.” With that, Sammy turned with the pipe resting over his shoulder, other arm out and fist clenched as he disappeared into the dark.  
  
Henry turned to his half of the room and flinched at the sudden shriek of the Projectionist followed by the sound of Sammy slamming a booth shut. Sprinting down the hall and grabbing an ink heart, the cartoonist thanked his lucky stars he’d let Sammy know to hide as he did so. That made three hearts, two to go.  
  
The Projectionist thumped around the corner and passed with sluggish strides through the ink. If Sammy were tall, then the Projectionist towered. His light and the ticking of his gears used to fill Henry with dread, but after so many loops, he looked at this creature with pity. Unable to speak, unable to reason, a memory lasting mere seconds… how was the Projectionist even alive? How could that existence be considered alive?  
  
Stepping out of the booth once the creature was safely past seeing him, Henry made a beeline for the next heart.  
  
A screech, and the Projectionist was sprinting down the hall to give Sammy a beating.  
  
“Holy Hell!” Sammy cried out from down the hall, and a door slammed shut.  
  
Henry picked up the suddenly final heart and hid in the booth close by.  
  
“Sammy!” He called out into the dark.  
  
“I’m fine! How the hell is he so fast?” Sammy called back, sounding more like the irate musician he’d known and not the pious ink man.  
  
The cartoonist chuckled. “I have three hearts!”  
  
“Two for me!”  
  
“Then we’re done!” Henry stepped from the booth and sloshed back out towards the platform with the elevator.  
  
With the stairs quickly in sight, Henry let out a sigh of relief and headed their way.  
  
In a moment, Sammy trudged out, hunched and with bulges in his pockets. He held the pipe like he was going to war and not an elevator. “I hated every moment of this task, little sheep.”  
  
The twisted Angel growled from above as the two made their way up the stairs to the elevator. _"Tell me, were they still writhing in your hands? Bring them to me now! I don't like to wait."_

  
“They are writhing in my pockets as we speak,” the musician hissed.  
  
“I can take them.” Henry held out a hand, brows raised.  
  
“Thank you.” Sammy quietly passed the wriggling hearts to Henry.  
  
He’d done this enough times to know he could in fact fit all five into his pockets if done right. “We’d better head out before the Projectionist comes this way.” He made his way back to the elevator and was greeted by a smiling Buddy.  
  
Buddy flashed a thumbs up, then leaned around the man to shoot a quizzical look at Sammy. The ink man was standing at the railing, his free hand gripping the wood tightly. “Sammy?” Of all times for the ink man to have a flashback. He seemed to freeze up when they hit, but he usually said something by now.  
  
The ink man stared down into the darkness below. Out in the depths, light flickering, the Projectionist lumbered on as if the two of them hadn’t just robbed him blind. The Projectionist himself was a fright, but the man he had been… well. Sammy couldn’t remember much. Just… tall and observant. It didn’t matter right now. They had almost finished the twisted angel’s tasks. “I’m coming, little sheep.” He turned to the cartoonist and decided that the Projectionist was best left alone for now.  
  
“You good?”  
  
“I suppose. No fresh memories. Distracted. Nothing more-”  
  
The elevator doors snapped shut between Henry and Sammy. A cruel chuckle from above, and the twisted angel spoke. _“I hate to break up such a fun little party, but your Angel has domain here. Your false prophet can play with the Projectionist all he wants.”_  
  
“No, no, c’mon.” Henry pressed the open door button a couple times to find no change. He looked back at Sammy, who was trying the same thing on his side of the elevator.  
  
Sammy turned on the doors and tried to pry them open. “Blasted- angel!” Even with his enhanced strength, he got the elevator doors to groan but nothing more. The ink man let out a throaty growl and reached an arm through the bars, his voice splitting into several. “Henry, give me the axe!”  
  
“Sammy-”  
  
“I’ll rip this cage off its tracks if I have to!” The Prophet grabbed the bars from the inside and tried again to force the steel jaws apart.  
  
“There’s nothing we can do to get them open. Trust me, I’ve tried before!”  
  
“Damn her. Damn her!” But no amount of curses or brute strength could get him anywhere but angry. “I made a vow not to abandon you and I’m not letting this twisted angel break it!”  
  
Buddy shrank back from the shouting and covered his eyes in the far corner.  
  
The cartoonist placed a hand over Sammy’s and focused on the eyes of the Bendy mask. “Sammy. You’re not breaking _anything_. Neither am I.”  
  
Sammy pressed his mask to the bars and turned his hand to lace their fingers. “I-”  
  
Henry didn’t question the gesture but gave a squeeze back. “I’m sorry it’s happened this way, but there’s nothing we can do.” He lowered his voice and spoke in a hushed tone. He didn’t know for sure if the angel could hear him, but he wasn’t about to risk it right here. “Sammy. Can you find Bendy-Land from here?”  
  
The ink man nodded after a moment. “I… yes. Why?”  
  
With a nod, Henry pushed the axe through a gap in the cage bars. “Get there as quick as you can. I know what’s coming, and it’s _not_ freedom. _This_ is the crash.”  
  
Sammy’s shoulders hunched, gaze flicking to the scared wolf in the back of the lift. “I’ll find you.”  
  
“I know. Please be careful.”  
  
The prophet nodded and reluctantly pulled his hand away from Henry’s grip. “You as well, my little sheep.” He took the axe and stepped back.  
  
Slowly, the elevator traveled to the Angel’s domain.  
  
Sammy watched the cage ascend and turned to the darkness that was the projectionist’s domain. There was no point in stalling. It calmed him, just barely, that Henry knew what was coming. The Heavenly Toys section was about the point in his prior loops that Sammy ducked out, only interfering once Henry showed up at the Lost Ones settlement. He couldn’t bear the Angel back then because of her sacrilege. Now… now it was the guilt.  
  
Sammy hefted the axe over a shoulder and slowly slunk off into the dark. His boots and overalls kept him stable in this place where blackness reached to his knees. Part of him wanted nothing more than to change course to somewhere less… wet.  
  
...but he had promised his little sheep he’d find him, and Bendy-Land wasn’t too far out of reach. Not impossible, by any means.  
  
Sammy pressed on, humming _I’ll be your Angel_ all the way.  
  
/  
  
 _“Such a cute display… but cute never lives long down here. You know...”_ Susie crooned from the speakers. _“Sammy Lawrence and I used to be such wonderful friends.”_  
  
Henry tensed, hazel gaze landing on Buddy.  
  
 _“The false prophet has more secrets than you would think.”_ Her oozing taunts faded into something slimy and cold. _“I knew them some time ago, but poor little errand boy is left in the dark again.”_  
  
The cartoonist adjusted his grip on the pipe Sammy had given him.  
  
 _“It’s sad, really._ _He likes you so much more than he ever liked me… let alone any woman, for that matter.”_ The angel ended with a chuckle, static hissed. _“Run along, my dear little errand boy._ _Our double date has come to an end, but y_ _our freedom awaits.”_  
  
Henry thumped the pipe into a palm and glanced at Buddy. “Any clue, Bud?”  
  
The clone shrugged, eyes wide.  
  
“... You _sure_ you don’t wanna head back to the safe-house? There’s still time.”  
  
Buddy frowned and crossed his arms.  
  
Henry sighed. The elevator began its ascent with a hum and a clunk. “Didn’t think so.”  
  
\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If Henry were any more chill, he wouldn’t have a pulse.


	10. Dix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cartoonist above, musician below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings–Flashback: implied racism, homophobic slurs and sexual harassment. Real-time: sexism.

**Cartoonist above, musician below.  
**  
  
\  
  
Sometimes, Henry wished the crash killed him.  
  
 _Permanently_.  
  
It couldn’t hurt as badly as what came when he regained consciousness. Buddy, patting his face and shaking his shoulders. That cloying humming as the two-faced twisted angel strut into view.  
  
The lights went black. Then as quickly as they had, they came back if only to show Buddy being ripped backwards into hell. Arms still stretched out to him like the damaged, dizzied man could do anything.  
  
It happened like that every time… and every time Henry wanted to _scream_.  
  
/  
  
If someone were to ask Sammy why he thought he could outrun the Projectionist, he’d have multiple answers but none of them would be good. The saving grace that kept him alive was the fact that object permanence was nonexistent for the beast trundling around.  
  
Too-many close-calls later had run the musician ragged. Better ragged than dead, he supposed. He was grateful that his overalls and boots hadn’t leaked. What luck that he hadn’t been harmed yet.  
  
Henry, however… well, he had heard the crash. He’d been near the platform, trying to figure a way to get the elevator to work, only to have the lift go screaming down into the depths. Half a second of noise, gone in thick, black smoke.  
  
Sammy knew Henry wouldn’t stay dead, should the fall kill him, but… well.  
  
Best not to think of the icy guilt that plunged into his stomach. Being in the lift would change nothing, but not being there, to have not even the chance to fail…  
  
Shake it off. Keep moving. The musician adjusted the axe over his shoulder and went back into the realm of the Projectionist.  
  
He paused at the sight of a tape player on a crate. That must have been the one Henry had asked him not to fiddle with… but Henry wasn’t here. He needed to hear it to understand himself better. Checking around before trying anything foolish, Sammy spied the Projectionist wandering about, back to him, and turning a corner out of sight.  
  
He hit the play button. Norman Polk’s voice wasn’t what Sammy expected. _"Now I’m not lookin' for trouble. It’s just the nature of us projectionists to seek out the dark places. You see, I’ve learned the ins and outs of this here studio. I know how to avoid being bothered by the likes of this... company. "That projectionist", they always say, "creeping around, he’s just lookin’ for trouble." Well trouble or not, I sees everything. They don’t even know when I’m watchin’. Even when I’m right behind ‘em."_  
  
... that didn’t help at all. It may have explained away the fact the creature once called Polk was lumbering around in the darkest parts of this place. Wasn’t there another, a searcher in a hat, that did something similar? Sticking to themselves and lobbing objects at Henry? Sammy felt a wave of something close to nausea, pins shooting into his head and down his spine. Why the hell was he remembering-  
  
 _“-anything about projectors, mister Lawrence?”  
  
“Only that you shouldn’t touch the bulb bare handed.”  
  
Norman nodded, smirking. “Know why that is?”  
  
Sammy shook his head. He and Jack had finished their latest piece, and it was now up to Joey Drew to completely botch it. He figured he might as well watch Norman, the projectionist, do his duty of projector maintenance.  
  
The older man held up a white-gloved hand. “Oil from your fingertips gets on the bulb, the bulb gets so hot the oil boils. Bulb shatters, and then I get sent up here to disassemble and clean a projector.” He screwed the new bulb into its socket and hefted the projector onto his left shoulder.  
  
“I’m impressed. I’d think you’d need a manual for that thing.”  
  
He shrugged his free shoulder. “No need. Been fixing these for decades.”  
  
“I didn’t think someone like you could do such a complex task.”  
  
Norman frowned, brows lowered. “Someone like me.”  
  
Sammy raised his hands in defense. “I only meant-”  
  
“I know what you meant, Lawrence. Don’t change the fact if you don’t learn you don’t eat.” The taller man glowered. “If you’re gonna fiddle with my machines, you’re gonna learn how to treat the projectors right. You breaking the biggest part of my main job ain’t gonna fly if Grant has to budget out for more parts every other week.”  
  
Sammy huffed. Who was Polk to speak to him like that? Then again, for things to go smoothly, he’d have to bite his tongue and pay attention. Starting with! “Right. Fantastic. What else do you do here?”  
  
Norman’s brow smoothed. “Projectors, some electric. Gotta wear more than one hat with mister Drew as your boss.”  
  
His confinement to the music department said otherwise. Four months in this place felt like a lifetime with the workload Joey had given him. He only got a break around Henry. “I’m fine being a music director and composer.”  
  
“Give it time, he’ll give you more to do.” Norman set the projector back down with a thud-  
_  
Susie chuckled, her voice a loud whisper as she drew close to her microphone. _“It’s a shame, really, that such a handsome man would be an eternal bachelor. I wonder who else knew about your dirty secret, false prophet?”_  
  
Sammy was thrust back into the moment at the voice, dizzy and aching. Were it anyone else, he’d be grateful. “Funny. I don’t recall you seeming to know any of my secrets yourself.”  
  
 _“You said you loved my voice, but you know what I think? I think you loved having me close to keep curious eyes off your wandering gaze.”_ The false angel thumped something with a fist. The dark undercurrent beneath her voice bubbled up, thick and unnaturally deep.  
  
She wasn’t wrong… it disgusted him he’d used people the way he had. “Just keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, I suppose.” Sammy trudged through the knee-deep ink. Knowing now that the twisted angel could hear what he and Henry had said made his insides roil. “Or don’t. I really can’t find time to care what you think of me, Miss Malice Angel. If I wanted a woman nearby, I could rent one who did a better job than you at hiding suspicion.”  
  
 _“Is that the story with Allison Pendle? A rental that got too chummy?”_  
  
The ink man looked up for a speaker to shout at. He could only remember Allison enough to know insulting her set him off. “I had no power over what happened to your role!” It wasn’t his fault that Joey changed his mind on Susie! It wasn’t his fault that Allison was such a wonderful fit for Alice Angel! “But keep blaming me for your misfortune. It’s done you so many favors!”  
  
Expecting a volatile retort, Sammy got a condescending, childish giggle for his outburst. _“And yet, I am the only angel here.”_ There was a clicking hiss of static, and the twisted angel went quiet.  
  
Hot, amber light and an unholy scream cut through the darkness. The Projectionist had Sammy in his sights.  
  
“Shit.” He ran, but made the mistake of getting cornered. Between worn wood and lattice work, Sammy had nowhere to go and nothing to hide behind. Projectionist was lumbering forward and swinging madly, giving the ink man another atrocious screech. Trapped but determined, he didn’t want to give up now. He couldn’t give up now. Henry needed him up at Bendy-Land! “Polk!”  
  
But the Projectionist drew closer and closer with his light blinding the ink man, before he swung once more and-  
  
Black.  
  
Wet.  
  
Cold.  
  
Black.  
  
... he already felt black, hadn’t he?  
  
... who was he?  
  
Was he even he in this place?  
  
This place. It… what was…  
  
... who…  
  
... wait… he knew this one…  
  
He… he was definitely he, not just part of this place… but who was-  
  
Sammy Lawrence. Musician. Prophet.  
  
Okay, he had that.  
  
Which parts were genuine… he’d think that up later.  
  
But… what was he doing? It was missing, but it felt… not black. Not cold. _Kinda_ wet? What was he-  
  
 _Curved horns._  
  
 **Unending smile.**  
  
 _I see you, my savior._  
  
 **Praise him.**  
  
 _He shines in the darkness._  
  
 **Praise him.**  
  
 _Love requires sacrifice._  
  
 **PRAISE HIM  
  
** _ **MY LORD**_ **  
  
** _ **AMEN!**_ **  
  
** _ **HE  
  
WILL  
  
SET  
  
US**_  
  
Hazel eyes. Freckles. Glasses. Kind. Cartoonist. Melancholy. _Henry_.  
  
 **Where was Henry?**  
  
The ink couldn’t penetrate his shock. How could he _forget_ Henry? Now if ever, of all people, Henry!  
  
Damn this corrupt ink!  
  
 _ **He had to get to Bendy-Land!**_  
  
Sammy came up from the ink with a shout and stumbled out of the corner the Projectionist had splattered him in. Soon as he got his breath back, he swore a blue streak. At least the overall’s stayed on! How did that even work? Where the hell was his banjo? Was his mask still in place?  
  
The flickering of a reel and the shambling, metallic footfalls of the Projectionist called his attention. Just stay out of his light this time. Just- where was the axe?  
  
Some feet away, floating in the ink. Sammy reached for it, using all his willpower to not be claimed again. A wave of horror almost pulled him down; did he lose his fingers?  
  
He checked, trembling in the darkness. Index, middle, ring… pinkie. Okay. Changes caused by Henry were permanent. Good to know if he fell to the ink again. Sammy reached for the axe again and pulled it from the ink without issue. Maybe his best bet was to stay put? Wait for the Projectionist to saunter by before he tried to leave for the abandoned theme park. How long had he been-  
  
 _“-a while since we’ve done this, eh?”  
  
Sammy nodded, brows set in a firm frown. “The second there’s breathing room means there’s more room to work.” There had been a terrible workless lull between Henry leaving and creating cartoons. Empty, dull, and no quiet workplace to hide from the beloved tyrant in.  
  
He ignored the fingertips that ghosted across his back. Joey always had a thing for touching people to get their attention. Sammy focused on what was before him, the storyboards pinned up in order. They offered enough for him to get an idea of what was to come. New characters; a set of trouble makers called The Butcher Gang. As if the little devil darlin’ needed more creations __to hog the spotlight.  
  
“These new critters are gonna be a hit, I can taste it!” Joey held up his pointing stick and rambled on about the setup on the cork-board above. “Now, your folly work is spot on, but Edgar here’s a special little fella! I’m thinking a cute peeping noise instead of dialogue.”  
  
Sammy nodded, already feeling his attention slipping. It’d be at least a month before these things would even see the silver screen. They were still just lines on a page, the basic movements and plot points. He let Joey talk. The sooner he ran out of steam, the sooner the musician could get back to work.  
  
“-but I’m thinking of using a triangle instead of an actual service bell! Unless you’ve got a service bell?” Joey grinned, but it faltered. “Busy day, eh?”  
  
“Mm? Oh. Yes. Very. Four songs all due by tomorrow morning will do that to a man.” If Joey knew how to set a proper deadline, he wouldn’t be dead on his feet.  
  
Joey set the pointing stick behind him and he settled a firm hand on Sammy’s lower back. “I wouldn’t give you that much if I didn’t believe in you.”  
  
…but suddenly Joey’s hand drifted too low and Sammy spun, pinning the shorter man with a burning glare. “Watch it, Drew.”  
  
The director was unphased as ever. “Not fun, is it?” His grin turned predatory, eyes cold. “I gotta wonder, Lawrence! Was this how Henry felt?”  
  
Oh shit. “Excuse me?”  
  
Joey playfully tugged Sammy’s closest suspender. “Y’know… Norman’s damn good at keeping me clued in to what’s going on where I can’t see.” He let it go, and it snapped back.  
  
Sammy hid a flinch and glowered. “Come off it, Joey. Whatever Norman’s telling you-”  
  
“Norman’s an outstanding worker. All he had to tell me was what he saw! He has no reason to lie to me, Sammy. But you?” The smile faded, and Joey’s real face glared up at him. “You’re a natural-born liar. Not a fan of those.”  
  
“Then fire me, if you hate me so much.”  
  
Joey scoffed. “Never said I hated you! But this attitude of yours might get you on your ass!” Arms behind his back, the man’s gaze danced over the storyboards up on the wall. “You two were awfully chummy. Believe you me, Henry was **my** best pal.” His emphasis on the word my was burning with bubbling, furious jealousy. Joey turned his head and fixed the blond with a wicked smile. “Thought you’d know to keep your hands to yourself…. but it’s not like a faggot would have self control-”  
  
The blond struck like a cobra and his punch landed true, dead smack into Joey’s nose.  
  
The director fell back and clutched his face. Hand over his bleeding nose, he heaved a few deep breaths… then cackled. “I didn’t think!” He broke off, laughter going from darkly amused to searing hysteria. “Oh, boy! Sammy, I tell ya! Didn’t think you had it in you!”  
  
Like Joey was the first bold bastard to try some funny business. Sammy loomed and felt himself redden and shake. “Hell do you think you are, Drew?”  
  
Joey pulled his hand from his nose. Bright, fresh red gleamed under his nose and against his palm. It leaked between his fingers. “I’m your boss.” His clean hand pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket, which was quickly stained red as he cleaned his hands and face. Rust stains remained in his pencil-thin mustache and on pale flesh. “There’s something you seem to forget; I’m running the show.” His smirk, that cruel crack of a grin, returned. “And you know it.”  
  
“You don’t own me, Drew,” Sammy stated levelly. “You try that again, I’ll do worse than pop you.”  
  
“Your contract says otherwise, but those pianist hands sure got some bite!” The Cheshire grin returned, and the shorter man cleared his throat. “Good talk, Sammy! I’m sure you’ll give these creations your best effort, but I’ve got an appointment in… Oh,” He glanced at his watch and headed for the door. He pulled it open, a bit of blood rubbing off on the knob. “Fifteen. So we’d both better get back to what we’re meant to do.”  
  
Sammy left without a word and stormed out.  
  
“And keep your hands to yourself from now on!”  
  
Joey just had to get another damn word in. It made the slender man move all the faster, and he shouldered into the bathroom.  
  
He heaved a breath, but his lungs couldn’t pull in air. Lungs starved of air and heart hammering as if trying to take flight, Sammy did what he always did when he felt this shit come on; wait it out.  
  
Not the best plan, but the only one he had. The blond slammed himself onto a toilet and latched the door. Flexing his hand even a little hurt like hell.  
  
Sammy turned his hand over. His knuckles were bleeding, a narrow scrape from one of Joey’s teeth, he was guessing. The infirmary had gauze… but then he’d have to come up with a reason for how he hurt himself. His stomach clenched as the anxiety hit full on. Joey knew. Norman saw what happened on the roof a month ago. He was bleeding and scared to death.  
  
He stood from his seat and turned, the contents of his stomach spilling out-_  
  
-but nothing came out, having no mouth to vomit with. His heaving stopped, the hand to a wall slick with shed ink. Parts of him dripped and writhed… the broken face of Bendy peered up at him, floating away. He affixed it back to his head with stiff movements. If the projectionist could hear, he’d have charged Sammy’s way, but he just lumbered on, light flickering brightly.  
  
The projectionist. Norman Polk. That flashback… it left Sammy feeling an ugly mix of sick and outraged. What the hell had Norman said to Joey that’d make Joey try something like that? What had Sammy done to Henry to elicit that amount of Joey Drew’s brand of hostility?  
  
An unhinged shriek tore through the depths, and Sammy raised the axe at the sudden oncoming brightness. To hell with figuring the Projectionist out; he was _not_ going back to the ink! The ink man charged and swung, landing a blow that shot sparks into the humid air. The blade bit into the speaker on the creature's chest, sending out a spray of ink and wires.  
  
The Projectionist lurched, the bulb flickering madly as he screeched again. Sammy screamed back and swung with all his might, the blade catching a fin on top of the beast and tugging it until it bent. He skipped backwards and the beast reached for him and he swung again, blade flat to knock it down. The Projectionist fell bulb-down into the ink and lay still. The ticking click of an unseen reel slowed and came at last to a stop.  
  
The musician was tempted to poke Polk to see if he would move, but shook the thought away. If old light head were still alive, then Sammy’d just have to face him when the time came. For now, the only thought was Bendy-Land. Focus on _Henry_ , and not whatever Norman had seen that made Joey act so… perverse.  
  
“Shake it off, Sammy. There’s much left to do.” The only sound he made were sloshing footsteps. He really didn’t feel like humming.  
  
\  
  
Bertrum was a nightmare. A pompous, swinging nightmare that couldn’t be reasoned with no matter how loudly Henry shouted. It always ended the same way, a gasping head in a steel cage, limbs strewn about and a mix of ink and oil spraying the room.  
  
But the lever was thrown, and the only one left would come after he lured the Projectionist up the stairs.  
  
He wondered how Sammy was faring. As the ink passed his knees on the way to the room below, he felt a sinking in his gut. Sammy hadn’t shown up, and he’d been… expecting him to. Expecting the be called a sheep from a higher part of the studio, or to suddenly find the broken Bendy mask fill his vision.  
  
Henry decided it best to not question how he kept the axe used on Bertrum. It beat not having a weapon at all.  
  
Not far, but not spying him yet, the Projectionist lumbered about. This part was straightforward; pull the lever, lower the platform, run like hell.  
  
Henry did just that, not running until the Projectionist screeched and pounded his way.  
  
Back up the stairs, Henry was halfway up when he realized the Projectionist wasn’t chasing him. He turned back and squinted into the dark. The creature had turned away, as if looking for something. Frowning, axe ready, the cartoonist thumped back down the stairs, and wandered back into the hot, amber light.  
  
Okay, that time it worked! Old Light Head was sprinting full tilt his way, and Henry scuttled backwards up the stairs to get out of range, knowing the booth to his back would protect him once the Projectionist got close enough to-  
  
A set of black arms shot out of the miracle station and wrapped around Henry’s middle. He was pulled backwards and held firmly against a cool body that smelled faintly of pine and heavily of ink. The broken Bendy mask staring down at him was a good clue as to what the hell just happened.  
  
“So, you _do_ have a death wish, my little sheep,” Sammy breathed, grip loosening around the man's waist.  
  
“Sammy, that better be you,” he said back, relief flooding him. Sammy made it.  
  
“It is I. I have news-” He gasped at a stab of pain as he felt the Ink Demon drawing close, oblivious to how tightly he grabbed Henry. “It can wait.”  
  
Burning amber light and ticking of film reels drew close, and Henry gripped his axe tighter. “Here we go.”  
  
The Projectionist’s light tilted with his head, and he reached for the booth door.  
  
The Ink Demon screamed from the left and charged, earning a screech from the Projectionist in return. The fight ended after several swings and the projector being torn from the body it had merged to. This fight never lasted long. Polk never stood a chance.  
  
The Ink Demon paused, jolting where it stood, and turned to the gap in the booth. It stared inward, eyeless and grinning, before it gave out the same two rough grunts like before. It reached down and grasped the Projectionist by the legs and limped back out of view.  
  
The hall went quiet.  
  
Sammy’s grip loosened. “Alright. It’s safe.”  
  
Henry nodded and pulled himself out of the ink man’s arms. He kicked the door open and stepped out, his axe feeling heavy in his grip. “The angel got Buddy.” He sighed, not turning to look back. “I don’t think this loop is the one, Sammy.”  
  
“Considering Polk and Buddy are gone? I suspect so.”  
  
Henry turned then and peered at Sammy over his glasses. “And… you’re okay with that?”  
  
Sighing, he tapped his fingers in the beat of a waltz. Henry was exactly what he said he was; just a man, lost in this place like so many. He was the key to freedom, but he was _just_ a man. “Too much pressure on you could snap you in half.” The musician huffed a chuckle. “I prefer you in one piece, where I can protect you. Besides, in this place I’ve learned that miracles aren’t massive.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“There is no need for an apology. The Projectionist splattered me against a wall, but thanks to your effect upon me, I’m the same creature you had to leave below. Nothing lost, and memories gained.” He held up his left hand and twitched the pinkie. “I must say, I could get used to these… little miracles of yours.”  
  
Henry smiled sadly.  
  
“Well, I _did_ lose the banjo.” A sad smile was better than no smile. Sammy shifted on his feet. “Little sheep… what comes now?”  
  
“Well… we ride the haunted house ride and end up in a room full of junk… then Buddy pops up and…” He took a deep breath. “Throws me against a wall.”  
  
“That sounds… unpleasant.” He had grown to like Buddy in the day he’d known him. Silent but friendly, willing to help unless scared.  
  
“Yeah.” He lifted the axe and headed to the haunted house. “And I don’t think we can both fit in a train car.”  
  
The musician let out an irate grunt. “Poor design choice, if you ask me.”  
  
The cartoonist already felt lighter, even when the weight of this studio pressed him to the breaking point. “Oh, definitely. All I get is a lap bar.”  
  
“A lap bar? Really? Is it padded?”  
  
“No.” He chuckled at the indignation Sammy’s voice held.  
  
The ink man gesticulated sharply. “What a travesty.”  
  
“I don’t think cushions were in the budget.”  
  
Sammy barked a laugh.  
  
/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I skipped the fight scene with Bertrum because I, like Henry, am tired.


	11. Onze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Say goodbye… for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s an announcement, and a gift, at the bottom of this chapter. :)

**Say goodbye… for now.**

**\**

  
  
“You were right about both of us not fitting.”  
  
“Maybe single riding is scarier?”  
  
Sammy scoffed. “With two people, the ride can startle one to grab the other. I thought that was the point of a haunted house!”  
  
Henry huffed a laugh. “What about the tunnel of love?”  
  
The musician made a disgusted noise. “Too on the nose.”  
 _  
"And now, the ride truly begins. Come in and pretend it's all just a bad dream."_  
  
The broken Bendy mask faced the source of the noise. “Did I mention _she_ can hear us? We had a chat down below.”  
  
“You didn’t… but good to know.” Henry climbed into the car and tugged the bar down. He turned to Sammy and peered over his glasses at him as the car started down the track. “When you get to the main room, get out of your car and be ready to fight.”  
  
“Very well. I’ll be joining you shortly.” But the despondence with which Henry spoke settled like an icy stone in his gut.  
  
The twisted angel didn’t waste time. _"It's a funny thing. How so much can fall apart so fast. We never really had control at the studio. Either you in someone's pocket, or you were putting someone else into yours. I just wanted what was promised to me. I just wanted to be beautiful! Surely you can understand that.”_ She paused and cooed into her microphone. _“Henry... Why are you here? With that lost cause of a false prophet? We're all dying to find out. Do you just enjoy the terror of the drop into hell? Because if that's the case... Hang on tight. I've got a surprise..."_  
  
No amount of bracing himself or seeing it hundreds of times could prepare him. Slowly, the car traveled down the track to the double doors on the other side. The nose of the car pressed the doors open, and enveloped him in black.  
  
A massive set of white gloves grabbed the front of the car. Rolling forward, exes over his eyes, Buddy’s caged head flopped into view. Blind, bloated, and senseless.  
  
“Oh, Buddy. I’m so sorry.”  
  
“Hn… r…” The poor beast paused and adjusted his grip, before lifting the car and pitching it across the room.  
  
Henry fell from the car just as Sammy leaped out of his own. “Henry!” He made a mad dash forward but stopped short as the Brute lumbered their way.  
  
A cruel cackle split the air. _"Ha ha ha! Meet the new and improved Boris! I took what I wanted, and in return, I gave him so much more! And this time, there's no Ink Demon, no escape. Boris, tear them apart! Leave nothing!"_  
  
“Dear god.” No amount of warning him could have prepared him for what happened to Buddy. He snapped himself out of his horrified trance and hoisted Henry from the floor by his upper arm.  
  
Henry held his axe at the ready, eyes glassy. “I hate this. I hate her.” Henry stepped sideways away from the ink man but kept his eyes on the Brute. “He’s fast, and he throws things. Be ready to dodge.” Just as he said so, the brute threw back its head and roared, before crouching and thundering their way.  
  
Sammy ducked behind a crate.  
  
Buddy slammed into the opposing wall, earning a wince from Henry. The second he had a chance, the cartoonist slammed the axe into Buddy’s back.  
  
The brute backhanded him across the room and he lay still, ribs burning. He’d dropped his axe on his way to the wall, the room dark and fuzzy when he landed. Damn his back.  
  
Sammy had his axe held double-handed, blade out and legs bent.  
  
The brute swayed on his feet and grabbed at his chest. A jettison of ink sprayed forward, the poor thing heaving for breath.  
  
Henry got to his feet and ran, the heavy footfalls of the brute close behind him. He got a few feet from Sammy when the brute launched himself forward and slammed both fists into the ground.  
  
Sammy lost his balance, and scrambled backwards.  
  
“Sammy! He’s heading for the cars!” Henry called out before swiping his axe from the floor near several sacks of sand. He turned in time to see two things; Sammy climbing on his feet and running towards him, and the brute lifting a car off the track with a growl.  
  
Brute Buddy turned, bringing the car up over his caged head. For a moment, he paused, arms raised with the car in his grip. He shook violently, ink spurting from his mouth, the car shaking. Those exed-out eyes snapped to Henry with another groan and more ink spilling forth. With a moan, his ears fell backward, lower jaw working lamely. “Hn… r… m… bd…”  
  
If Henry had the energy to cry, that would have broken him. “Buddy.”  
  
Sammy looked between them both. “He remembers?”  
  
Henry could only nod.  
  
Buddy dropped the car which shattered on impact. He got closer to Henry with a staggering step and fell, only to prop himself on a knee and both gloved mitts. His bad leg remained bent, bones jutting out.  
  
 _“What are you doing?_ _Kill them!_ _Kill them both, Boris!”_ The twisted angel screamed from her hiding place.  
  
Buddy’s head snapped hard to the side, and he stood, fists raised with a bellow to shake the room to its core. But he didn’t charge Henry, or turn on Sammy. He tried again to speak. “Nnt… brs…” His mouth opened and a wave of ink gushed out. He didn’t try again after that.  
  
She shrieked enough to make the lights flicker. _“Kill them you waste of parts!”_  
  
But he didn’t kill _them_.  
  
Buddy staggered backwards, a spurt of ink spitting from his chest. The brute staggered backward and fell, sitting. He let out a roar and dug his massive fingertips into the gushing hole in his chest.  
  
“Buddy-” But Sammy had Henry around the stomach and wasn’t about to let go.  
  
“Don’t.” Sammy whispered. “Who knows what the Angel’s ink might do.”  
  
Henry grit his teeth, a hot lump rising in his throat. “I’m sorry, Buddy.” He hung his head and waited, hoping his friend's pain would be over quickly.  
  
The wolf bellowed again with a gush of ink and reached for the hole in his chest with both hands. With a wet, horrible series of crunches and spurts, Buddy ripped his rib cage open and fell backwards.  
  
 _“No!_ _You useless wolf!”_ the twisted angel screamed, her voice heard from the speakers and where she hid.  
  
Swirls of ink consumed Buddy’s bloated body, and he faded away into a puddle.  
  
Sammy released Henry, free hand against his back. He did _not_ understand what he just witnessed, and from the vacant stare Henry was giving the puddle, neither did he.  
  
Movement from the doors Buddy came from had Sammy rushing in front of Henry with his axe.  
  
The twisted angel gave a shriek that rattled the chandelier above, her hands formed into claws and ripped mouth agape.  
  
A blade forced its way through her breastbone from behind, and she froze in wide-eyed shock.  
  
“Sammy.” Henry’s voice was scratchy and distant, but he was trying. “Get back.”  
  
He did, both hands gripping the axe as he stood in front of Henry.  
  
The twisted angel fell when the blade wrenched free, and she chocked out a soft, pained noise before falling to the left, eyes shut forever.  
  
There, one with a cutlass and one with a pipe, stood Allison and Tom.  
  
Allison’s wide-eyed stare melted into a confused scowl, and she raised her blade to Sammy. “What are _you_ doing here?”  
  
Sammy tilted his head back and squared his shoulders. “I could ask the same thing.”  
  
Tom glared from where he stood and thumped the pipe he held hard into his mechanical palm.  
  
“Hello,” Henry said. Walking out from behind Sammy with hands empty and raised, he continued. “We don’t want a fight.”  
  
Allison squinted his way. “There won’t _be_ a fight, if you come with us.”  
  
Sammy hunched his shoulders, lifting the axe. “Not a chance.”  
  
“Sammy, this is what happens.”  
  
He turned to the cartoonist with a jolt. “I won’t become a prisoner and neither will you, little sheep.”  
  
“Just _him_.” She aimed at Henry with her head, gaze coldly fixed onto Sammy. “ _You_ work for the Ink Demon. His prophet.”  
  
Henry, arms still raised, gave Sammy a pensive look. “Please don’t fight.” He didn’t want to think of what her cutlass could do to Sammy, or Sammy’s axe could do to her… or what Tom might do if things grew heated. “Just do what she says.”  
  
The ink man shook his head and stormed forwards. “ _No_. I only just found you again!”  
  
“It’s okay. We’re almost done. We can try again soon.”  
  
But Allison raised her cutlass and halted Sammy with a blade tip to the throat. “That’s close enough.”  
  
He turned his anger to her, now. “Enough? I think not, angel!”  
  
Her brows lowered in a soft scowl. “I’m no angel.”  
  
“Sammy.” Henry’s voice broke through and he had the prophet’s attention once more. “Please. It will be okay.”  
  
He didn’t miss the confused looks the wolf and angel shot each other. Tom thumped the pipe in his mechanical palm, and Allison’s brows furrowed over wide eyes.  
  
Sammy, grumbling as separation settled firmly into reality, lowered his head. The prophet nodded stiffly and backed some feet away. “ _Fine_.” He aimed the axe at the three of them, but his gaze was firmly on Henry. “Harm him, and the Ink Demon will be the _least_ of your worries.” He turned and sprinted out the doors and down the track out of sight.  
  
/  
  
Days passed, and Henry could not find deviation from the established pattern that was Allison and Tom. Nothing more than the occasional extended pause, or Tom threatening him in a slightly slower manner.  
  
“I know you’re watching me. It’s just… a little creepy.”  
  
When Henry found the horned angel painting words on the wall with ink, he stood from the cot. Okay, the Seeing Tool came soon. Feeling the sharp ache in his back as always, the cartoonist leaned his elbows on the sizeable gap between the boards. “You’re the one who writes on the walls.”  
  
"We all do. For some poor souls down here, it's the only way they can be heard. But you don't want to touch the ink for too long. It can claim you… Pull you back." Allison turned to observe Henry. Her brush slowed. “Why were you with the prophet?”  
  
Henry perked a little. Allison had changed the pattern on her own. Coaxing and leading never deviated, but having Sammy in the haunted house room with him… that did it. Now to use it. “He’s my friend. He’s been helping me in this place.”  
  
She focused back on her work and tensed slightly as she spoke. “That prophet isn’t someone you want as a friend. He thinks the Ink Demon is a god who can be reasoned with, not the beast it is.”  
  
“He used to, but not now. I trust him.”  
  
Allison hummed in thought. “He has to believe you’re useful to the Ink Demon alive rather than dead, then. The prophet isn’t someone you want as a friend. I’ve seen what he does to Lost Ones and Searchers who fall out of line. It’d only be a matter of time before you did something wrong, and he’d throw you to the Ink Demon.”  
  
An accurate accusation that still made the patient man glare. “Trust me. He wouldn’t.”  
  
Her voice sunk low and bitter. “He would.”  
  
Henry frowned at her back. “At least _he_ didn’t put me in a cage.”  
  
Her nimble hand paused, the brush leaving a widening black spot on the wall. "Let me show you something… Awhile back, I was mapping out one of the upper levels...When I noticed something reflecting off a piece of glass.” Reaching over to her right, Allison picked the seeing tool from the stool. “I held up the glass, looked through, and on the wall behind me was a hidden message! Right there in plain sight! So I kept looking...and found more and more messages everywhere in the studio! But you can't see them with your eyes. Only through this! Take a look!”  
  
Her trusting nature would have been sweet, had he not seen it come back to bite her hundreds of times. Henry took the tool and held it up to her. Halo perched above her head, writing on the wall behind her, reminding him coldly that SHE WILL LEAVE YOU FOR DEAD.  
  
Like he needed a reminder.  
  
\  
  
“I’m sorry.” Allison’s tear-choked voice got no less painful to hear, even as she and Tom took off and left him in his cage.  
  
Why did she never take the Seeing Tool back? Henry didn’t know as he tucked it into his back pocket. But he knew how to get out of this place. He just wished it didn’t involve reaching into a toilet. Worth it to have a weapon.  
  
Oddly enough, not a single searcher popped out on his way to the barge. He arrived just in time to see the first boat disappear into the tunnel with Allison and Tom. How they got through faster than him was just another thing he’d chalk up to none of this place making enough sense.  
  
Henry got the barge going and braced himself for the inevitable giant hand. He just assumed that the barge was on a preset track, like the haunted house ride. It explained why it always went to the same place. But… giant hand. Of the monsters this place had spawned, the giant hand was the most confusing. Was it just a hand? Was it attached to someone? Who? How?  
  
He’d have to ask Sammy about it.  
  
Several smacks to the paddle wheel later, the Lost Harbor came into view. To his left sat the fisher who didn’t look up from their cast line. The barge pulled into its place by the dock, the village empty as always. Henry made his way to the empty circle in the middle of the settlement and turned at a sound behind him. The barge always sank after he got off. Who built these things that broke so easily? Another thing he’d have to figure out.  
  
“Ah, there you are.”  
  
Henry turned to the voice, and found Sammy Lawrence approaching from behind the building he usually burst from, axe over one shoulder.  
  
The cartoonist smiled tiredly. “Sammy.”  
  
The prophet held his head high, free hand open towards him. “My little sheep has returned to his shepherd.”  
  
The cartoonist hid a wince. Gone a few days, and Sammy regressed this far. Something to know for the next loop. “For the record, the time I’m with them is the same each time.”  
  
“Good to know.” He deflated a little, mask still facing Henry. “When I saw the horned angel and her wolf run through here without you, I feared the worst. Especially with the Ink Demon’s wrath boiling over not long ago.” He raised his free hand and placed it on Henry’s shoulder carefully. “I am thankful that you’re in one piece, little sheep.”  
  
Henry nodded, peering over his glasses. “Where did they run off to?”  
  
Sammy withdrew, both hands to the axe. “A tunnel running overhead. Why?”  
  
“Well, usually, this is the part where you try to kill me.”  
  
Sammy let out an offended grumble. “Don’t remind me.”  
  
“Too late now… wait. On my way here, I didn’t see any searchers.”  
  
“Good. I made clear that-”  
  
“Henry!” Allison called out, her cutlass raised and ready but giving them a wide berth. Tom ran up to stand behind her, his own axe ready. They came from behind a cluster of buildings. “You’re lucky we were in the neighborhood.”  
  
Huh. Her usual words, in a new order. Okay, back in the hideout wasn’t a mere fluke. Good. He moved to stand in front of Sammy. “I wondered where you went.”  
  
“Here. The Ink Demon rarely ventures to this area…” Allison’s smile faded, gaze worriedly flicking to the ink man behind Henry. “Henry, you said you… trust him?”  
  
Sammy pointed her way with an upturned palm. “No wonder my ears were burning.” Well… if he had ears.  
  
Tom shot him a look from behind Allison.  
  
“Yes. He’s on our side. Promise. And with where we need to go, we need him.”  
  
The ink man tilted his head, flexing his fingers against the handle of the axe. _We need him. Henry trusts him._ It hit then how empty this place was without someone who wanted him around.  
  
The horned angel frowned, eyes on the floor. “Alright.” She ran to the gate and sliced the ropes cleanly, sidestepping and looking back at the cartoonist. “Probably best if we stay together from now on. Henry? Think you can lead the way?”  
  
Henry headed for the boards he knew would break under him and braced for the upcoming fall.  
  
It never killed him. He had a feeling it should have.  
  
“Henry!”  
  
Splinters of old wood and motes of dust fell behind him. His landing never hurt more than, say, falling out of bed, but it left him catching his breath. He rolled out of the puddle and sat up stiffly.  
  
Someone jumped after him. They landed with a heavy thump of old boots and looked up, showing a familiar, battered Bendy mask.  
  
Henry blinked.  
  
Sammy straightened, the broken Bendy mask fixed firmly onto Henry. “Your resilience astounds me.” Sammy reached out to help Henry up.  
  
Henry nodded, and took the hand offered, getting to his feet with a grunt. “Same. I thought you’d get puddled.”  
  
“I am tougher than I seem… and these separations are starting to annoy me.”  
  
Henry continued towards Administration. “Agreed. Okay, up ahead we have butcher clones, and we need to print the right pipes to drain the ink. Then the vault.”  
  
“More tedium, then.”  
  
“I mean, I have to deal with the Ink Demon after crossing the ink river. That’s about as exciting as it gets.”  
  
“And yet, you sound exhausted by all of this.”  
  
“Who wouldn’t be?” Henry chuckled a little. “You can wait in the booth?”  
  
“And leave you to your own devices? I think not, my little sheep.”  
  
“The sooner we get through here, the sooner Allison and Tom show up.”  
  
Sammy raised his axe. “After you.”  
  
/  
  
Tedium was right. It was done soon enough. Having an extra set of hands helped.  
  
But what came next? Henry’d take tedium over _The End_ any day of the week.  
  
The film vault was underwhelming, but where it lead was what mattered.  
  
Sammy held an old reel in his hands, examining the label. “Mm. Didn’t like the score for this one. I remember that much.” He tossed the reel into the box behind him. “Too much brass, honestly.”  
  
“Not a fan of brass?”  
  
Inked fingers wandered over the strings of the abandoned cello. Off key, but serviceable. “It has its merits, but strings are where I shine.” He approached with a smirk in his voice. “Well, that and piano.”  
  
“What about banjo?”  
  
Sammy tilted his head. “My first love. Just, ah, don’t tell the piano.”  
  
Henry smiled his way. This snarky man was the Sammy he knew. These little talks helped him keep in mind just why he hadn’t given up on getting free entirely.  
  
Henry held up the Seeing Tool to the wall. THE DEMON HAS TAKEN IT. “Want to look?”  
  
“What does it do?”

“Somenone’s left writing on the walls, but you can only see it through this thing.” Henry held the tool out to Sammy.

“I’d… not now.”

“I might not have it next loop.”

“I’ll live.”  
  
Henry shrugged and replaced the seeing tool to his back pocket. “When the next one starts, I’ll meet you in the music room.”  
  
“You’d better, little sheep.”  
  
The two turned to footsteps behind them, spotting Allison and Tom. "Looks like whatever was here was taken long ago…" she said, before focusing back onto Henry.  
  
Sammy, who’d startled at the sound of feet, lowered his arms. He’d tucked the axe into a loop on his overalls after they dealt with the clones. "How did you get down here?"  
  
Henry smirked. That was _his_ line.  
  
Allison smirked at Sammy, a hand to her hip. “It pays to carry a rope. You should try it.”  
  
“Gang’s all here.” Henry glanced about the group with a determined frown. “The Ink Demon has something that we need… I'm going after him."  
  
“To his lair? Are you crazy?”  
  
Sammy nodded at the horned angel. “I have to agree. This _is_ crazy, little sheep.”  
  
She nodded at Sammy, dark lips drawn in a smile. “We can agree on that, at least. It's probably close by… probably through that door. But it won't be easy to open. I'll need three gears, a crowbar… hmm… some kind of counterbalance…"  
  
Tom strode past the group of them and punched the doors open with a mechanical fist.  
  
“Huh. Well, that works, too.”  
  
The four of them entered the room, winding down halls that Henry’d seen hundreds of times. A hand wrapped around Henry’s arm, and he halted. Sammy stood beside him, other arm out to keep the wolf and angel behind.  
  
“He’s close.”  
  
Beyond the glass, rings of feathery black rose and pulsed against the walls.  
  
Allison’s voice was hushed behind them. “Don’t make any noise.”  
  
The Ink Demon limped into view. He didn’t pause in his movements across the room, but after all this time Henry doubted the beast didn’t know they were there. If Sammy was right, the beast knew and didn’t give a damn. They kept going once the demon was out of sight. From the dark, the massive Ink Machine loomed into sight.  
  
Allison ran ahead to get a better look. "Wow! I've never seen this before! I don't see any way around… nothing to build a raft with."  
  
“We could probably wade across?”  
  
The horned angel shook her head sadly. "We can't… We're not like you, Henry. If we go in there, Well… a drop of water in the ocean is never seen again."  
  
“She’s right… no one wants to go back to the Ink.” Sammy’s mask remained downcast, left hand to his side and tapping out a quadrille.  
  
Henry looked back to Allison. "Then I guess it's all up to me... and I don't even know what I'm doing."  
  
Those wide, hopeful eyes locked with his. "You're here for a reason, Henry. There's always a reason! Even when you can't understand it. It's time… Set us free!"  
  
Well. Here he went, then. Feet over the edge, he turned to the musician. “Sammy?”  
  
The ink man nodded slowly. “Until then, Henry.”  
  
The cartoonist nodded back and sank into the ink river. He turned to the doorway under the machine and waded away from the group behind him. At least now, he knew what to do when the next loop kicked off. If the progress made this loop were any sign, he’d been doing something right.  
  
It was _just_ the right amount of hope.  
  
\  
  
.  
.  
.  
  
Joey, propped on an elbow, extended his hand to the door in the wall. “Henry, come visit the old workshop. There’s something I want to show you.”  
  
The door to the studio opened wide, ink dripping to the left and a reel playing far down the hallway. Dulled posters lined the walls, and the hall opened to the left.  
  
Mechanically, unable to stop his path forward, Henry spoke. “Alright Joey. I’m here. Let’s see if we can find what you wanted me to see.” The door shut behind him on its own. Like always. The spell was broken, and Henry could move on his own once more.  
  
The cartoonist took a breath and steadied himself. He wasn’t much closer to figuring this entire thing out. Henry pressed against a wall and rubbed a hand across his face, covering his mouth. Okay. This would be loop two-hundred and seventy-six, with some progress made and no end in sight.  
  
He could only hope that the light at the end of this tunnel wasn’t an oncoming train.  
  
Something pressed against his lower back and tugged at his pocket. Henry frowned and reached behind himself to retrieve the offending object. His eyes widened at the tallies that glowed against the opposing wall. The Seeing Tool felt so light in his grip, but the sheer shock made his hands cold and his thoughts jumbled.  
  
Two-hundred and seventy-seven loops, and the Seeing Tool, something he’d lost after the second loop ended, was back in his hands.  
  
But _why?_  
  
/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty! There’s Act One complete! Excuse me while I take an intermission. No upload next week, mostly because I need to get on writing the rest of this thing and a brief break will allow that. In the meantime, here! I drew my Henry for you all. Gaze upon the soft-done grandpa!


	12. Douze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Douze - Nice hat.

**Nice hat.**

\

No point in delaying once the machine got percolating. There was never a choice to start it or not, anyway. He might as well head down to the music area. He always fell, but it didn’t even raise his heartbeat anymore. Hell, Bendy reaching for him through the boards did nothing but give him the cue to bolt.

When did horror become mundane? How often had Henry asked himself that question?

Sammy was sure to be ready for a new loop… unless he’d given up on helping Henry and just throw him into the Ink. That’d be fitting. The Seeing Tool in his back pocket weighed enough to remind him it was there, but he still reached back to check for it now and then.

Henry, axe ready, stepped into the music room, having skipped the tapes of Sammy’s voice. He looked up to the projectors booth, brows furrowed. No prophet. “Sammy?”

Something thumped as someone knocked it over, and in a moment the ink man was skidding out onto the balcony. He gripped the rails with trembling hands. “My apologies, little sheep.” Sammy’s smile was heard, a glowing wave of warmth at seeing Henry. “I have something you must see.”

Henry raised his free hand to stop the ink man from leaping over the rail. “You don’t have to-”

_Whoosh._ **Thud** _._

“Never mind.” The cartoonist smiled at Sammy. “What is it? Did something else come back?”

“It did!” With a shaking hand, Sammy grabbed the Bendy mask, and pushed it up just enough to show his chin. “Hello, Henry.”

“A mouth!”

He pushed the mask back down in an instant, but his mouth was visible through the hole in the mask’s teeth. “I know! Oh! This means we’re doing right by the path we are on!”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right. Thanks to you.”

“I don’t know about that, Sammy.”

The musician scoffed. “Oh, doubting me already?” It hadn’t even been an entire minute!

“Now that you know where this leads, I don’t…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know why you put so much trust in me. Last loop went better than the past ones, but it wasn’t enough to get out.”

Sammy frowned, head tilting. “My hands are whole, my lips are restored, my mind is clearing… and you are kind to me.” He tilted his head down. “You always were. Why would I not follow you?” In the memories he had of Henry, the cartoonist was always the kindest part of them.

“We might not get it this time, or next time… I don’t want to give you false hope.” He peered at Sammy over his glasses. “I don’t know how long this will take, Sammy, but I’m doing all I can.”

Sammy tensed at that, fists clenched. “ _False hope_ is what the Ink Demon gave me. You are _not_ the Ink Demon.” He smiled, finally able to really do so.

“So you aren’t upset?”

His hands unfurled and raised about chest high. “No. Why?”

“You said last loop I was trying to shake you.”

The prophet tutted, a hand raised to wag a finger his way. “No, no. I was trying to, er… lighten your mood.”

“Well… it worked a little.”

He smirked -he could _smirk!_ \- and adjusted the strap of his banjo. How lucky was he that it was right where it usually sat? “I aim to please, believe you me. Where to, little sheep?”

“Well…” He reached back and pulled out the tool. “You could look through this, if you wanted. If it triggers anything, it might help to do it here.”

Sammy gingerly took the bit of glass and wire, frowning at it with much scrutiny. “Have you looked at yourself with this?”

The cartoonist made a face, eyes downcast. “I can’t see myself. I’ve looked in mirrors, but I just see a message asking ‘Who am I now?’.”

The ink man tilted his head forward, grasping the tool with both hands. His hand on the frame tapped it in a waltz. “You’re Henry Stein, if that helps.”

He huffed a laugh. “It’s the same with mirrors.”

“You can’t even see your reflection?”

“No… and I’m worried about what that means.”

Sammy hummed in thought. “I’m lost on that as well, but-” he lifted the tool and gestured to it with his free hand- “I can give you a look over. Tell you what I find.”

Henry nodded, set the axe down on a chair, and stood straight. “Go ahead.”

Sammy lifted the Seeing Tool to Henry, starting at the feet. Other than normal black ink, his legs were fine. No gold ink to be seen. Traveling up the torso, Sammy paused at Henry’s hands. “Turn your hands over.”

Henry did, palms out. “See anything?”

“Your palms are coated in gold ink.”

Henry squinted. “What does the gold ink mean? Do you know?”

“No… but it seems you're the source.”

Henry sighed. “Maybe.”

Sammy raised the tool again. “I’m right… again…” He paused, newfound mouth going still. Henry’s chest and upper arms were covered in hand prints of gold. They were five-fingered and four-fingered, some dragging down, leaving trails of gold in their wake. Across his collar bones was the word HONEST, with a simplified heart in the middle, underneath. He panned up to the mans face… “Oh.”

Henry squinted. “Oh? That a bad thing?”

“I…” He paused, mouth agape.

Henry was looking at him head on, brows raised in concern. “What’s wrong?”

Sammy shut his mouth slowly. The cartoonist had the word GUILTY scrawled in small print across his forehead. Trails of gold ink ran down his cheeks from his eyes. That ticked something in the back of the ink man’s mind. The whispers of the ink curdled and thrummed. _Do something. He’s hurt._ The ink man reached out with his free hand towards the cartoonist’s face, the need to _do something_ pushing proper conduct out of his mind. _Do something._ Henry was hurting. _Do something._ Henry was in pain. _Do something!_ Henry was gently grasping his wrist to stop him from touching him.

“Sammy, what’s wrong?” He asked, concern growing.

He shook his head to clear it of half-hissed commands and pulled his hand free. _Bad prophet._ _That is not allowed._ “The gold ink covers you in hand prints. It writes the word honest over your heart… and the word guilty on your forehead.”

Brushing a hand through his hair, Henry nodded. “Makes sense.”

“But the gold ink.” Sammy passed the tool back to Henry. “The ink… it traces your face as if you’ve been crying your heart out.”

He took the tool and stuck it back in his pocket. “I’m okay.”

Bullshit. “... are you?”

He thought about it, hazel eyes searching the floor. “I’ll feel bad later.” The cartoonist turned and headed out the doors. “Let’s go find Buddy.” He had no right to feel bad when so many others had so much worse things to deal with. In this inked hellscape, his pain could wait as long as it took to get out.

The ink man stood still, hand outstretched and fingers twitching. He wanted, needed, to do _something_ . That melancholy he’d felt radiating off the man ran so much deeper than he’d assumed. How did he not break under the sheer _weight_ of it?

Henry leaned back into view, brows up. “Sammy?”

“Coming, little sheep.” He strode out of the room, grabbing up a wrench on the way out.

/

Down the stairs and past the infirmary, Henry and Sammy made their way to the tunnel. Oddly enough, Henry hadn’t had to break the boards to get the valve for the past two-dozen loops. The hatted searcher chucked it at him and scrambled away.

Henry cracked his neck with a satisfying pop. “That’s better. Falling through a floor will do that to a guy.”

“What a sound.”

“Old stiffs make the best noises.”

“Old? You don’t look it.”

He chuckled. “Trust me, I’m getting up there.”

“At least you know your age.”

“We could figure yours out. You weren’t much older than me.”

“I recall being a decade older than you, little sheep.”

“Well, you don’t look it,” Henry chuckled.

“Fantastic,” he drawled, pausing at the sealed off tunnel. It felt… not familiar, but… Henry would know if it mattered. He sure didn’t anymore. “Henry, have you been in this tunnel before?”

The man turned. “Yes, but not for a while.” He gave the boards a crooked frown. “The searcher down that way is Jack Fain. Has a nice hat.”

“Hat.”

“Yep.” He nodded, focus back on Sammy. “Usually, he has the valve I need to drain the music department. I have to go down the tunnel after him, and he tries to crush me with crates.”

“How rude.” A loud gargling noise sounded from within. Sammy looked down the tunnel and lay a hand on the nearest board. “Was that him just now?”

“Most likely.” Henry shrugged. “He just hurls the valve my way and runs.”

Sammy frowned at the tunnel, head lowering. “Last loop, I remembered a man named Jack. He was only mentioned, an echo, but it felt important.” He blew out an inaudible sigh and tilted his head back. “For all I know, _everything’s_ important.”

“There is a tape of Jack down there, but it’s up to you. We don’t have to.” Just like he hadn’t mentioned the tape of Susie by the recording booth.

The ink man drummed his fingers against the boards. “Hm… let’s say hello.” He stood back to give the man room.

Henry cleared the path and held out his left hand to direct the ink man into the tunnel. “After you.”

“Why, thank you.” He strode on long legs down the tunnel, holding his wrench at the ready.

Something slithered out of sight, splashing ink along the way. It _definitely_ had a hat.

“There he goes.” Henry frowned at Sammy’s back, the axe over a shoulder. “Think you remember him from that? Or do you want to get closer?”

“Closer? I don’t...” Did he? He couldn’t say. The hat was familiar, but not who was under it. The echo of a memory thrummed in his head. “I do. I think so, at least. Let me just…” Sammy leaned against the near wall.

Henry approached, brow knit. “Sammy?”

The musician rolled his head to look at him. “Half the time, my memories send me crashing to the floor.” He smirked, turning to look at Henry. “My dramatic flair shining through, I think.”

“We can sit down if you want.”

“Mm.” Sammy bent his knees and sank to the floor with a squelch. “Oh. That’s a _pleasing_ noise. Might have been a B-sharp.”

Henry dropped to a crouch, smirking slightly. “You sat on something sharp?”

A chuckle. “No, no, I-” He paused, smiling. “Trying to get a laugh out of me.”

Henry’s gaze softened a bit. “You can smile. Might as well try.”

Head tapped wall. “I appreciate it, little sheep.”

“I know you don’t exactly _need_ to eat, but I know there’s soup down the tunnel a ways.”

“Oh, the horror of the ink man feeding. You truly want to go mad, don’t you?” Despite Henry having seen him eat before, seen his lack of face before, he was still self-conscious. He couldn’t quite remember his old face, but he knew he’d been a hit with the ladies. His head rolled on his shoulders, gaze back on Henry. Henry could probably win anyone over with his personality alone.

“You good?”

“No. I’m dying.” It felt like dying, at least. But he wouldn’t complain if Henry was the last thing he saw. “Gaze not upon my ruined mouth, little sheep.”

“Kinda hard not to. You have a hole in your mask.”

He covered the hole with his hand. “Oh, the horror. I’m exposed. Blindness awaits you.”

Henry smirked and shook his head at the sheer theatrics. “I’ll live. I’ve already-”

“ _-seen you at the cafeteria. You eat, right?” Henry was giving the musician a look that was too gentle to be scolding._

_Sammy smirked. “I run on coffee and spite. Part of my charm.” He took a sip from the green mug in his grip. The coffee had long gone cold, but the caffeine would help get him going. He could pause for a drink or a brief chat, but full on lunch? Inconceivable._

_Henry shook his head and set something on the top of the upright piano. “Here you go.”_

_The blonde reached out a spidery hand and took the apple. “Really.”_

_The cartoonist ran a hand through his auburn hair. “Yeah?”_

_Sammy frowned and leaned an elbow on the closed fall board, propping his chin into his palm. “Henry, you don’t have to worry about my diet. Trust me.”_

“ _I never see you eat. I sometimes don’t see you for an entire week!” He peered over his glasses. “’scuse me if I worry a little.”_

_He righted himself and gave a long-suffering sigh. “If I eat it, will you let this go?”_

“ _For now, but… you should eat more, Sammy.”_

_“Don’t want to ruin this sharp figure, Henry.” His frown turned crooked as he buffed the fruit against his pant leg. “You’re lucky I like you. I like a grand total of six people. You’re one of them and you’re on thin ice.”_

_Henry chuckled. “I’m flattered.”_

_Sammy took a moment to scrutinize the apple. “Don’t be. My reputation of being an ass isn’t just a rumor.” He took a vicious bite of the apple, the crunch and tartness perking him up a little. Not bad. Not his favorite fruit, but it helped._

“ _Eh. I think you’re fine.” Henry grimaced at the sound of footsteps outside. “Ah jeez.” His grimace turned warm, if still tired. “Joey’s been kinda crazy lately. I just need a minute away. Stretch my legs and make sure you didn’t nail yourself to the piano bench.”_

“ _Mm.” He swallowed and was about to say something more, when someone popped into the music department._

_Thankfully, not Joey._

_Sammy smiled at the short, older man in the doorway. “Oh look, one of the other six.”_

_The portly man waved the blond off. “You keep telling people you got a list, you’re gonna see it shrink.”_

“ _I’ll live. Half is fine by me.”_

_Jack adjusted his hat and nodded at Henry. “Stein.”_

_Brows went up. “Hey, Jack.”_

_The lyricist shot the cartoonist a look. “When’d we get on a first name basis?”_

_Brows went down. “We… weren’t before?”_

_Sammy gestured at the cartoonist with a friendly smile. “Easy, Henry. Jack’s all bark, no bite. Biting people’s heads off is my deal, anyway.” He took another bite of the apple._

“ _This is why you ain’t married, Sam.”_

_The blond snorted. Right, that was why. Swallowing, he pointed with the hand holding the apple. “Jack, you keep scaring people off, you’ll be on thin ice.”_

_Henry smirked. “I thought I was on thin ice?”_

_The lyricist shook his head, smiling beneath his thick mustache. “Everyone’s on thin ice with this guy.” He patted the folder under his arm. “Lyrics are out of the rough drafts, courtesy of Mister Drew rewriting the entire damn thing,” he finished sourly. “Man had no clue what syllables are, I swear.”_

“ _Well, I better get back to the drawing board. Don’t wanna interrupt the creative process.” Henry said, heading for the door._

“ _You could sit in?” Sammy offered, earning a surprised look from Jack. “I watch you draw-”_

“-often enough.” He was back in the studio. He turned to Henry, who had knelt next to him with the axe head to the ground. “You were… always taking care of me.”

“Not always, but when I remembered.”

Sammy laughed, a bitter noise. “You and Jack both.”

Henry peered over his glasses. “You got something for Jack?”

“Just barely. Lyricist. Worked together, I-” Sammy froze, then leaped to his feet. “Jack!” He made a beeline for the tape recorder and hit the play button.

" _I love the quiet, and that's hard to come by these busy times. And yeah sure it may stink to high heaven down here. But it's just perfect for an old lyricist like me. Sammy's songs always got some bounce, but if I didn't get away once in a while, they'd never have any words to go with them. So I'll keep my mind a-singin' and my nose closed._ "

The wet patter of footsteps alerted him to Henry’s approach. He stopped short of being too close.

Nothing else burbled up. “Nothing. Just… noise.” Sammy sighed. “It’s all just noise.”

Something squelched down the tunnel a ways.

Sammy didn’t look up, then reached out a hand to Henry. “May I have the tool?”

He placed it in his inked hand without a word.

Holding it up, he found no golden ink lining the walls. No messages. “Are there any in here?”

“Yeah, but… I think I wrote the one by the crates when I was having a bad loop.”

“You have those?” A huffed laugh, and Sammy headed further into the tunnel. “Well, now I must see it.”

“Jeez.” Henry followed, axe at the ready. “By the way, Jack mostly plays peekaboo up at the crates. Get too close and he’ll bolt.”

“Peekaboo? What a silly word.” The crates soon came into view, a hat floating on top of the ink. “Ah. There he is.” He lifted the tool and focused it on the hat. “No notes for the hat.” Lifting it up to the SING WITH ME splayed on the wall, he frowned at what Henry had scrawled on top. I DON’T SING WITH PSYCHOS. “Ah. Rather fitting, little sheep.” He lowered the tool and found the hat was gone. “Fitting indeed.”

Henry entered the crate room and paused, eyes downcast. “Like I said, it probably wasn’t a good loop.”

The ink man turned, lips pursed in thought. “Do you physically write these things, or do they just seem to show up?”

“I know for sure I didn’t write guilty on my forehead, if that’s what you mean.”

“Mm. Fair enough-oh!” Something tapped on his pant leg, and the musician looked down. The hat had moved to a foot away from him, and a flipper of ink was patting him to get his attention. “Hello.”

The ink scooted backwards, a melted face peering up at him. The flipper waved shyly from the muck.

“Hey, Jack,” Henry uttered softly from behind Sammy.

Jack nodded slightly Henry’s way. With both flippers, he gestured at the two men with a confused shrug of his… bulk. He didn’t exactly have shoulders in this form.

Henry smiled gently. “We’re trying to get out. Do you want to join us?”

Jack flattened and shook what was left of his head. A flipper patted the ink next to his bulk.

Sammy felt a wave of disappointment at that. For Jack’s sake, being here was likely better for his stability, but… well, from what he remembered moments before, he’d liked Jack. “You sure?”

A firm nod that made the hat bob.

Henry shrugged. “Okay. Let one of us know if that changes.”

The searcher gave what was likely a thumbs up before oozing away back into the darkness.

Sammy sighed when Jack was out of sight. “So much for that.” He grasped the strap of his banjo and headed out of the tunnel.

“At least we know. Jack’s kinda aware. If he’s alright down here, pushing him won’t help.”

“Mm.”

Henry swallowed, brows knit as he followed. “I don’t think you’re psychotic anymore.” He sighed inwardly. “If that wasn’t clear, I mean.”

Sammy turned to glance at Henry over his shoulder. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”

“I mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” The ink man turned fully to the man. “Henry. I’ve tried to kill you. Often.”

Henry adjusted his glasses. “Still.”

“If you offended me, you’d know. I’d never let it go.” Sammy smiled and passed the tool back to him.

The cartoonist gave a lopsided smile in return. “Fair enough.”

\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good to be back! :D


	13. Treize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stupid, stubborn sacrifice.

**Stupid, stubborn sacrifice.**

/

The duo found Buddy quickly enough, but the loop went almost exactly the same as the previous one. It ended the same way, at least. While seeing Sammy before heading into the belly of the machine eased Henry’s mind, he couldn’t help but feel that the new version of the loop _wasn’t_ what was meant to happen.

At least, not this many repetitions.

The pattern had changed, but the loops continued. The only things keeping Henry’s spirits up was that somehow, the Seeing Tool stayed with him since he’d gotten it back, but he somehow lost it by the time Allison and Tom captured him. One positive? Sammy _always_ had something new to tell him. He’d got the Projectionist to slow down and look at him rather than purely attacking, and at some point the ink man happily reported his toes had returned!

He refused to remove the boots, something about staying stable, but Henry was inclined to believe him. Sammy wasn’t one for empty platitudes and falsehoods, especially not like that. That the ink man was becoming less ink and more man, albeit slowly, gave Henry hope. Slight sparks in the dark cast enough light to let him know he was going the right way.

But the recent problem was that there were no changes past what they had in loop two hundred seventy-seven, Seeing Tool and toes notwithstanding. Now what?

Here they were, on loop two hundred ninety-four. Sitting in the safe house and still unsure what the hangup was when they were making progress, they waited for Buddy to come back with soup.

Sammy idly tuned his banjo, frame lax. Henry scratched at the blank pages of the notebook Sammy had returned to him. It would have been calming to be together in safety, if the bubbles of frustration weren’t threatening to burst.

Henry’s patience was hard to scrape away, but Sammy? Sammy was a bear trap that’d spring with a stiff breeze.

The cartoonist blinked at his work, a rough drawing of Sammy across from him, and sighed through his nose. “So.”

“So.” Spoken too lightly. A feather-light word that didn’t bode well.

He peered over his glasses. “We both know something’s wrong. Right?”

“Yes.”

He blinked. “And we’re over two dozen loops from where we started working together.”

“Yes.” The broken mask fixated on him. A wave of tension flexed at the ink man’s neck and shoulders. “My little sheep, _fantastic_ as hand-holding and running from monsters can be, this cannot continue,” he muttered from the chair. “What do you think is going on?”

Henry sighed, tilting back his head and feeling a crick click free. “We’re missing something crucial. Just can’t figure what.”

“If it helps…” Sammy set the banjo across his lap, lips pursed in thought. “I have an explanation, Henry. And forgive me if this is accusatory.”

“Go on.”

“I think the component we’re not seeing is just under our noses.” He didn’t look up from staring at the banjo. “Buddy seems the faulty cog in our clockwork.”

Henry lifted his head and looked to him fully, brows low. “What makes you say that?”

The musician hesitated. “He... _can_ remember past loops, right?”

Henry nodded.

Sammy looked up at Henry, resting an arm on the table. “But he doesn’t change his own path?” The index and thumb of that hand tapped in a tango. “You’ve asked, nay, _begged_ , that he stay put, to come back here and hide from Susie-” the name made him stumble, but he cleared his throat to continue. “But he won’t.”

The cartoonist didn’t like how much sense this was making. “Right.”

Both arms on the table now, hands clasped not in pleading but to keep them still. If he didn’t stem the racing thoughts, they may turn to burning accusations. “I think… Buddy is doing this on purpose.” He shrugged, hands unclasped and palms up. “But I can’t see why. You’d have to ask him yourself, and if I’m wrong, it might mean we’re out on our own for a while.”

“Buddy wouldn’t throw us out.”

“Don’t want to offend our favorite wolf.” He leaned back, mask to the ceiling. “Far be it from me to judge following a set path, but breaking the pattern lead me to you.” He couldn’t be anymore grateful.

“Could it be the Projectionist holding things up?”

“Mm. Doubtful. He still tries to splatter me, but he’s less… oh, I don’t know. How to put it…” His jaw worked as he thought out the right words. Words could be difficult, or even harsh or clunky. It’s why he’d needed a lyricist, after all! He could thump out a melody, but words were his weakness. But the matter of old light head. “He’s slower. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was doing what he thought he needed to do, not what he wanted. Besides, I don’t know how we’d communicate with him once he gets free of his path.” He frowned, gaze on the door Buddy had left from an hour prior. “Polk’s not far enough from the pattern to be why we’re stuck.”

Henry sighed, eyes downcast. “You’re right.”

He hated that look on Henry. “Maybe. But we won’t know unless you talk to him.” His head snapped around to the door when the gears creaked. “And it seems this is your chance.” He stood from his chair and set the banjo to the side. “I’ll give you two some… privacy. He might be more willing to listen if I’m not breathing down his neck.” Sammy left the front room and headed for the bathroom. It’s not like he could just go for a walk and let them be.

Buddy entered the safe-house a moment after Sammy headed for the bathroom.

“Hey, Buddy,” Henry watched the wolf set down the messenger bag and unload soup. “When you have a minute, we gotta talk.”

The wolf perked, eyes on Henry and ears perked. He held up a gloved finger and finished unloading. Loping his way to his usual seat, the wolf sat, smiling back at the human across from him.

The cartoonist frowned, concern lining his features. “I need you to tell me why you keep putting yourself in danger.”

He blinked and shrugged Henry’s way.

Henry peered over his glasses, shooting Buddy a deadpan look. “Buddy, I’m not mad, I’m worried. Seeing you rip yourself open after Alice gets a hold of you _hurts_. I just wanna know why you’re doing it.” And put a stop to it if he could. He couldn’t force the wolf into something he didn’t want to do.

The wolf’s ears drooped, rubbing his arm with a gloved hand. Poor guy couldn’t look less happy if he tried.

“Buddy. Please.” Henry sighed and swallowed the lump in his throat. “I need to know why. You could write it down?” He didn’t know what else to do or say.

Frowning down at the tabletop, Buddy nodded slowly and reached for some scrap paper and his fountain pen. It took a minute to think out what he wanted and write it legibly like he needed, but if Henry wanted to know? He’d let him know. Proofreading and giving a soft grunt at his work, he passed the sheet to Henry.

The script, tall and narrow, made Henry’s heart sink.

EACH TIME A LOOP STARTS AND SHE TAKES ME I GET MORE CONTROL BACK WHEN I SEE YOU IF I DO IT ENOUGH I CAN BE A BRUTE AND PROTECT YOU AND SAMMY

That hurt worse than being hurled at a pipe wall. “Aw, jeez. Buddy.” The older man teared up and handed the paper back to the wolf. “Don’t do that to yourself for me!”

The wolf crossed his arms and sunk his head into his shoulders.

Henry reached out and squeezed the wolf’s shoulder. He blinked the tears away and smiled softly. “No one should hurt themselves for me. Okay?”

Buddy sank further into himself, frown deepening. He couldn’t look Henry in the eye.

“I can’t make you stay here, can I?”

A shake of his head.

“You’re not gonna stop, are you?”

Buddy shrugged. Even he didn’t know where this would lead.

Henry drew back, sighing at the entire ordeal. “Well… at least promise you’ll give it a chance eventually… okay?”

Buddy couldn’t, and they both knew it.

In the bathroom, seated in his stall, the prophet seethed in silence. He’d heard their brief exchange, silent as half the party was. Inked hands balled into fists against his thighs, mouth clamped shut. What the hell did Buddy think this would accomplish? It wasn’t working, whatever the plan the wolf had was.

The ink that enveloped him raced and dripped. How could he be so much closer to human and still leak this much? “Damn it.” The prophet pushed up his mask and rested his face against curled fists. He needed to calm himself. Remember why he was with Henry to start with. Remember… _anything_ that would help. A key, a code, a snippet of something light and soft, not this place, _anything_.

Nothing came. Just anger aimed at the wolf, and something he didn’t want to overthink aimed at Henry.

Was it justified? He didn’t care. Buddy was screwing them over. Henry was too good to say it.

But he’d say it, even only in his head. He wanted out of this place and the delays were burning him alive.

A soft knock at the door. “Sammy, you good in there?”

“Occupied.” But it sounded hollow. “Someone forgot to replace the roll.”

“You’re serious?”

He stood and pulled down the mask. Thinned ink slicked his palms, but he didn’t want to overthink it now. Why was he crying, anyway? Was he even doing that? He didn’t have eyes to cry with. Matter at hand; Henry. “My humor falls flat once more.”

A huffed chuckle from the man beyond the door. “Well, I’ve got soup on the stove.”

That… sounded nice, actually. “Fine. Let me wash my hands first.”

“Won’t that hurt you?”

“Probably.” He pulled the door open. “You could always use another stall, little sheep.”

“The other one’s locked.”

Sammy immediately looked to his right at the offending stall. “I could climb over and unlock it from the inside.”

“Save your energy, Sammy.”

“As you wish.”

\

Malice Angel was a _perfect_ name. Considering the absolute tantrum she pitched when Sammy came along instead of staying with the projectionist. If she wanted those hearts, she had to open the doors.

She did so, but made clear her distaste for the rabble in her elevator.

Sammy didn’t mention her words. He hadn’t really talked much during the loop.

When Susie’s chuckling broke into deranged cackles, Henry grabbed the rail behind him. It didn’t help, but he didn’t go flying when they landed.

“ _You think that false prophet can save you?_ _Your precious sycophant can’t even save himself!_ _”_ She screamed over the falling elevator. Henry held tight to the rails, Buddy cowering in the corner as usual. Sammy, however, braced himself in his own corner, the broken mask affixed to the voice of the angel above. _“No, Henry! This is my domain! I’ll take your perfect Boris and serve you that liar’s head!”_ The lights flared wildly as darkness beat against the walls. _“Then you’ll really wish you’d just stayed dead!”_

Crash. Dark.

Henry came to on the hums of the angel. In the hall, her black shape sauntered through the dust.

Buddy shook him sharply, trying to jostle him as he had hundreds of times before.

Sammy raced forward from the left. He held a sharp sliver of wood and threw himself at Susie.

But Susie had claws to rival a hawk and speed to match.

Susie sliced Sammy’s head from his shoulders in one sharp swipe.

He didn’t scream. His knees buckled, and his head fell to the floor with a splatter.

Henry’s vision doubled, and the lights went out. They came back just in time for him to see Buddy ripped backwards through hell. Again.

He came to, an arm laying palm up in a cool puddle of ink. A groan, low and tired, followed by stiffly sitting up. Black coated his arm, but did no more than stain him. “That was-” He flinched as what happened to Sammy reemerged. “Sammy!” He rolled onto his knees and palms. That explained the ink! The thought made his stomach clench uncomfortably.

No more Sammy. Just a puddle, overalls and a mask.

Henry reached out, and everything _ached_. “Sammy. I’m sorry.” He touched the mask gently with shaking fingertips. “I’m so sorry.”

The puddle didn’t move.

“Sammy. I don’t know if you can hear me.” Deep down, he knew the man was gone. “But I’ll see you next loop, okay? The music room, where we always meet up. Okay?”

The mask said nothing.

Henry blinked back tears and gave a sharp nod. “Okay.” He took a deep breath in and stood on creaky legs. Unarmed, alone, but ready for what he had to do, Henry did what he’d done for so many loops prior; press on.

/

He didn’t miss the prison in Allison and Tom’s hideout. The cot wasn’t the best, and he wasn’t fed often enough, if at all. Thanks, Tom.

At least he was at the part where the Seeing Tool came up.

Allison’s nimble hand paused, the brush leaving a widening black spot on the wall. "Let me show you something… Awhile back, I was mapping out one of the upper levels... When I noticed something reflecting off a piece of glass.” Reaching over to her right, Allison picked the seeing tool from the stool. “I held up the glass, looked through, and on the wall behind me was a hidden message! Right there in plain sight! So I kept looking... and found more and more messages everywhere in the studio! But you can't see them with your eyes. Only through this! Take a look!”

Taking the tool and looking through at her, he reminded himself she still had a halo. Too kind. “Where does it all lead?”

“Nowhere.”

Thinking to himself, Henry lowered the tool. “Would you like to know a secret?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve done this conversation? Hundreds of times now.”

“Hundreds?” Allison’s expression grew worried. “Henry, are you feeling alright?”

The man responded by passing her, Seeing Tool back to her. “Look at the wall behind the desk.”

She took the tool back and got a look, wide eyes squinting in concern as she did. “I didn’t write that.”

“I know. I did.” Something flickered gold, a mote in the dark. It was under the cot. “At least…” Stepping away from the boards, Henry sank down to grab what shouldn’t be possible, and stood back up to face the horned angel. “I think I did.”

She turned back to find Henry, holding the same tool she had. A perfect copy. She froze, only her eyes moving from her tool to his. “Henry. How?”

“Allison. Look at me.” He set down his tool and gestured to her with an open palm. He wouldn’t look this gift horse in the mouth, not now. “With that. _Really_ look.”

A frown wrinkled her pale face, but she obliged. The tool raised, she gave Henry a clear once over and stilled. Her mouth worked mutely before she lowered the tool. “What happened to you?”

He sighed, leaning forward to rest on the low board. “Too much. This entire place is like a cycle, a loop I can’t break from, and believe me, I’ve been trying for a long time.”

“But… I only just met you.”

“This loop, yeah, you have. But now? Well, we’ve met a couple hundred times.”

A sharp glare. “I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth. In a day or so, you’ll abandon me in here when the Ink Demon gets too close. Tom won’t let you release me, and we’ll meet up in the Lost Harbor. The false prophet -His name is Sammy, by the way- might be there, he might not. I don’t know.” His voice softened, peering over his glasses. “But you _know_ it’s not déjà vu.”

“I…” Allison swayed on her feet, black mouth turned down hard at the corners. “I don’t _know_ if that’s true. I want to trust you, Henry, but Tom thinks you’re dangerous.”

“And what do _you_ think?” He asked, face slipping to a deadpan stare.

“I think… you’re the hope we’re looking for.” The horned angel managed a smirk, brows furrowed but not angry. “Also? That look could scare almost anybody.”

Raising a brow, Henry shot her a bright grin, all teeth.

She laughed, hands raised. “Never mind!”

The man huffed a chuckle and gave a nod. “Trust me, I never smile in pictures.” Not with teeth, anyway. But the matter at hand. “Listen. I can’t promise that the next time this happens, you’ll remember anything. You haven’t before. And I’ve never had my Seeing Tool in here with me before this turn, so something’s changed.”

“I can try. Maybe…” Lifting her tool, she hummed in thought, thin hand to her chin. “I mean… you control the hidden ink?”

“Kinda. Don’t know how it works.”

A slow nod. “Where does it show up?”

“Don’t know that, either.”

An eye roll. “Well, that’s discouraging.”

“Mm.” Turning his hand over to glance at the palm, Henry looked at it through the tool. “It doesn’t show my markings on me.”

“Henry. I think I have an idea.” She set her tool on the desk and ambled his way. “Take my hand.”

He did, gentle as ever. She was almost as cold as Sammy usually was. Unlike Sammy, she left no ink behind.

Drawing her hand away, she held it palm out to Henry. “Okay. Look.”

Lifting his tool back up, he gave her hand a hard look. Nothing. Just black. “Nothing.”

Sighing, she frowned. “If… what you say is right about this being a loop, it might show up next time. If there even is a next time.”

“Until I can figure this out-” Henry stepped away from the boards and went back to his cot- “There’s always a next time. Just wish I knew the reason,” he finished quietly.

She nodded, icy stones of uncertainty setting in her gut. “There’s always a reason, Henry. Go back to sleep.” Her focus turned from the man in the cot and back to her work on the wall. “Maybe tomorrow will be better.”

“Maybe.” He lay back and shut his eyes, his tool over his stomach. Next loop would be better. At least the idea of a new loop gave him a little hope.

.

.

.

Alice had only just started on the mural by the desk. Everyone wrote on the walls, but she tried to write wonderful things. Ideas, theories, guesses. Hope and open doorways. There wasn’t much else to do when Tom was out. She didn’t know why the damaged Boris clone was so insistent of being with her. She wouldn’t complain. He could respond to the name Tom, but she lost whatever that meant. However long she’d been down here, Tom was rarely far.

He made her feel… safe.

But for now, she had her mural, and her Seeing Tool. She’d look through it now and then, just to glean if newness emerged, but rarely anything did. The wall above her cot, blank. The wall she drew upon, only her own work. The wall behind the desk, SHE WILL LEAVE YOU FOR DEAD

That... wasn’t there before. Dread knotted behind her breastbone. Who wrote that?

_Kind eyes. Freckles. Gold tears._

DON’T BE SCARED

_What do_ **you** _think?_

You? The horned angel pinched the bridge of her nose to sooth the ache building above her brow. She was… what was her name? Alice? They called her Alice.

Alice… not. Not quite.

Alise? Allis?

She gasped at the weight the name **ALLISON** bore **.**

Pendle, old. Connor, new. Tom Connor. She’d- the wolf at her side. The wolf who’d- wait. No. Hang on. Not a wolf. A man. Smart, creative, hardworking. She’d been in love, he’d been there when she-

Alice Angel. Her voice. Singing in a booth to a tune crafted by a sharp-tongued composer and an introverted lyricist.

_**Look.** _

I’LL BE YOUR ANGEL

Look behind you. **Look** **behind you now** **.**

Into the tunnel into the tunnel into the tunnel so dark so cold who are you where am I what happened to me am I me what are you doing tom help tom help TOM HELP

Mechanical arm. Stern and aware. A good boy.

Lie with a smile. This studio is going places. BELIEVE. INK. INTO THE INK. INK DEMON. RISE.

~~JOEY DREW A MONSTER~~

Smile no joy all _**teeth teeth teETH TEETH TEETH** _

_She was no angel._

Whoever she was, she looked through the tool at the gold lettering that graced the wood beside the open cell. Through the splitting headache and watering eyes, she made out four words.

MY NAME IS HENRY

Henry?

Henry.

**HENRY**

The tools fell to the ground. Lithe hands grasped her head. Needling pain lanced across her thoughts. The name. The memories. The loops. Blow after painful blow against the walls of her mind as it became clear as day above this inky place.

It was _never_ déjà vu.

The HE to set them FREE was never BENDY.

Somewhere between Joey Drew pointing to the door and Henry falling through the floor, Allison Connor awoke on a scream.

\


	14. Quatorze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking nightmares are still nightmares.

**Waking nightmares are still nightmares.**

/

Henry could safely say that he didn’t want to repeat _that_.

Frustrated with Buddy as he was, at least one positive came of this; Allison seemed to believe him when he said déjà vu wasn’t the truth. He hoped it’d stick, but he’d know that in a while. A _long_ while. First things first? Find Sammy and offer an apology. He didn’t live life wearing blinders; the ink man wasn’t happy with Buddy willingly sacrificing himself, or with the cartoonist for not putting his foot down. Reading someone he’d been fighting alongside for possibly _months_ was a cakewalk.

... and that since it had been _months_ , he had to move _faster_. Do _more_.

But Henry knew that something was off about last loop. Sammy hadn’t shown up. Not even to swing an axe and curse Bendy for abandonment! His last Sammy sighting was a puddle by the wrecked elevator. Henry wouldn’t be shocked if the ink man waved it all off and got back to working on freedom. Henry shook his head. He just had to get the valves, drain the stairs, and…

A ripple of unease washed through him. Why hadn’t Sammy popped up by now? He’d half expected that the ink man would show mask and hop a railing, but…

He shook his head and paused at the tunnel. Jack was waiting for him, at least. He held the valve out to Henry this time, not pitching it his way as usual.

“Hey, Jack.” He took the valve and frowned at the hatted searcher. “You seen Sammy?”

The searcher’s melted face twisted from discomfort. He nodded, then lay a flipper on Henry’s near arm.

Odd. Okay. “What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

The searcher gargled, shaking his head.

Oh. There came the waves of unease again. “Is he in the music department?”

Jack withdrew and gave a shrug, before melting down and slinking backwards from the boards.

Not helpful or unhelpful, but it was something. “Alright. Thanks, Jack.” Henry pressed forward and held the axe at the ready. He kinda hoped for a better explanation, but Jack wasn’t a talker. None of the searchers were.

The music room was as it had been, the projector off and no cartoons playing. Swallowing, Henry called out, “Sammy?” No ink man waiting in the wings, from the looks of the empty loft above. He frowned. It was possible Sammy was angry with him. It’d make sense, seeing how last loop ended in death for the ink man. He’d probably have to get the sanctuary open if he wanted to-

A sharp blow sent him sprawling to the floor. Henry’s darkening vision found Sammy Lawrence, armed with a dustpan, leering down at him.

“Rest your head. It’s time for bed.”

_No._

/

Henry came to, tied to the beam once more. His heart sank, the ropes creaking as he strained against their rough strength. The broken Bendy mask withdrew from his view, and he found Sammy looking back at him. He had all his fingers, and his mouth worked behind his mask as he spoke.

"There we go now, nice and tight. We wouldn't want our sheep roaming away now, would we? No, we wouldn't.” Sammy glanced down at the axe. He freed and raised a hand to his chest, a gesture Henry had seen to mean honesty from Sammy. He did it here and now, as if to rub it in. Just madness and a broken mask. “I must admit I am... _honored_ you came all the way down here to visit me. It almost makes what I'm about to do seem cruel.”

No, _cruel_ was seeing so much progress set back to square one.

The prophet strode away to set down the axe. His voice was soft and ominous, not the tense and sarcastic one he’d only just got back. “But the believers must honor their savior. I must have him notice me. Wait.”

The mask filled Henry’s vision, Sammy’s puzzled observation a painful prompt at how far back he’d fallen.

“You look familiar to me... that face...” But he pulled back and shook his head. “Not now, for our lord is...” Sammy’s attention shifted to his raised right hand. How many fingers? “My little sheep, our lord is...” When did he gain the lips that brushed against the rough cutout of the mask?

“Sammy.” The cartoonist locked eyes with the Bendy mask. “Sammy Lawrence, I need you back.”

The ink man recoiled as if struck. Hands raised chest high, his breathing hitched. “What? I-” He turned over his hands with shaking, perfect fingers. He couldn’t get his breath. Why did he need to breathe? He couldn’t think over the murmurs of lost souls, the thrum of the ink, the thundering of his heartbeat-

A sharp, dreadful gasp, and Sammy lay a hand over his heart. He had his _lungs_. He had his _heart_. He had his lungs and heart because of _**dozens of loops helping the man called-**_ “... Henry.” His voice broke on his name. “Oh, god.” The ink man released a muffled sob and clasped a hand over his mouth. Bendy was drawing close. What had he almost _done?_ He fell to his knees and frantically undid the binds, a stream of brittle apologies flowing out of his mouth.

Henry shook the ropes free and stood up. “It’s okay.” It wasn’t. He snapped up the axe and turned back to the ink man on the floor. “Let’s get out of here.” He grabbed Sammy’s hand and pulled him to his feet. He hadn’t bothered to stand after Henry got free of the ropes.

“Leave me.”

“No.” Henry tugged.

“I almost-”

“I don’t care,” he deadpanned with a sharper tug.

Sammy didn’t argue further, and the two ran. Feathery rings of black crept along the walls and puddles bubbled sickly from the floor.

Henry opted to take the path that wouldn’t lead directly to Buddy _or_ Bendy. Back out through the music room and past Jack’s tunnel, away from everyone and thing. Just had to find somewhere to talk, figure out what went wrong...

“I don’t know why I did it!” Sammy shouted as he was pulled along. “I don’t know what pulled me back to him!”

Henry spied an open doorway to his right across a hall and ran inside. It held a crate, some ink bottles, a brass bed… why was there a bed? It didn’t matter. He kicked the door shut and finally let go of Sammy’s hand. The cartoonist shoved a chair under the handle. Okay. That was… what was that noise?

Sammy had pushed up his mask to cover his face with his hands, much like when Henry would knock it loose down at the harbor. Rather than running to hide what lay beneath the cardboard, the ink man shuddered with sharp, tiny breaths. “I don’t know.” He hunched and panted with hooked fingers against his brow. “I don’t know.”

“You died.”

Sammy pulled his face from his hands and looked up at Henry. “What?”

Henry nodded, head meeting the door behind him with a sigh. “Susie. You were between her and Buddy. I think dying set you back.”

A swallow. “I… when… when _Norman_ took me down, I fell in the ink. Was there any deep ink where I died?”

“No.”

A soft nod. Still hunched and desperately trying to shrink. “I… I can’t promise it won’t happen again, Henry.”

“I know.”

Sammy’s hands shook. Looking up meant insubordination. The pressing, rippling push to _bow and beg forgiveness from your lord_ was crushing. His breaths grew ragged, and he rasped, “Hit me.”

Henry’s worry doubled, brows up as he took a step forward. “No. Sammy, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“You _should_.” His words were curt, but he still shook. “Love requires sacrifice and that sacrifice lead me to-”

Henry’s warm hand clasped an inked shoulder. “Sammy, I’m not angry. I was _worried_. You’ve been such a big help down here. I thought I lost you for good.”

Not angry? “You _should_ be angry!” he snapped. “I threw myself forward to stop the process. I was furious! I-I wanted to stop Buddy from doing what he was, because you wouldn’t force him to do it!”

The cartoonist drew back. “What?”

Sammy spoke on like he’d heard nothing. “I _told_ _you_ he was the reason we weren’t making progress, and you didn’t push him at all! Nothing! You break yourself to get things done, but he can’t do _one thi_ _ng_?” He barked a staccato laugh, no mirth and all hysteria. “A-and look where it landed us! I almost set us back further than the wolf ever could! You _should_ be furious! You should be-”

Sammy’s self-loathing tirade cut out when Henry grabbed the ink man by a strap to pull him up and forward.

It took Sammy a moment to string together the action that was a hug. He was… getting a hug? A perfectly normal, warm, human hug. But why? This made no sense. He didn’t deserve this, he deserved punishment. Reprimand. Scolding. _Something_ that wasn’t... so _soothing_. “No wrath for this foolish shepherd?” He whimpered.

“I’m saving _that_ for Joey. Not you.” Holding hands gave Sammy an anchor, but what good was an anchor with a snapped line? Henry held the slim, cool body to his own. “Never _you_. Okay?”

A sharp inhale. “Okay.” If Henry started it, it must be okay. _Henry was not Bendy. Henry wouldn't hurt him._ _Remember that above all else._ To hell with ink stains. Sammy Lawrence graciously accepted the hug and returned it desperately.

He could also confirm he _had_ regained the ability to cry.

/

Buddy’s first act upon seeing Henry and Sammy was to lope forward and give Henry an apology hug. The gangling creature did his best, at least.

Taking a dustpan to the head didn’t make one keen on staying awake. For once, Henry didn’t argue when Sammy ushered him off to bed. He was out of the sepia-toned safe-house a minute after unfurling on the cot.

“ _Old friend, we’ve gotta talk. I wish it could wait, but it just… can’t. I know we have our deadlines, but those aren’t as big as this.” Joey wasn’t smiling._ _That_ _was worse than his manic, crazed smiles that said he had another idea. This? This was serious business, not jokes and jibes. The man offered his hand to the chair before the desk.  
_

_Henry sat with a creak, peering over his glasses at his friend. “What’s wrong?”_

_A grimace. “You know I’d never be mad at you, pal.”  
_

“ _I don’t get where you’re going, Joey.” His brows furrowed as he leaned forward. “Let’s talk this out, okay?”  
_

_Joey, a grown man, pouted. “Now, I thought you knew better than to lie to me, Henry.”  
_

_He made a face and shook his head, a hand raised in honest confusion. “I’m not following at all. Can you just tell me what’s going on?” For once?  
_

_Joey slicked down his mustache with thumb and forefinger. “I don’t like rumors being spread about friends and coworkers.” He leaned on his elbow and frowned. “So… you mind telling me what happened on the roof? Norman told me about it, but I’d rather hear it from you.”  
_

_The roof. A nonevent in the grand scheme of making Bendy come to the silver screen. “I needed some fresh air. I guess I could stay_ _on the ground floor_ _?”  
_

_His lip twitched. “I’m talking about you and Sammy Lawrence.”  
_

“ _The guy smokes.” Henry frowned, arms crossed over his stomach. “Joey, we’re coworkers shooting the breeze about cute cartoons. You’re gonna have to explain what’s got your hackles up.” But he knew what he was talking about. He just didn’t see why Joey was making his private molehill into a personal mountain.  
_

 _Joey rapped his knuckles on the desk, brows scrunched in deep annoyance. “I don’t enjoy interrogating people, Henry._ _You know me!_ _I enjoy making_ _smiles_ _and dreams come true!” His bombastic voice emerged from the scowling mask, but quickly faded. “But if you don’t wanna tell me on your own, that’s fine! I could just… ring Linda. Tell her the reason you’re staying here late. Dunno how she’d take it.”  
_

“ _Take_ _it_ _?_ _There is no ‘it’, Joey. S_ _he knows me. Better than you, it looks like._ _” But the accusation didn’t hurt him. It fueled him, and the patient man stood. “You’d call my pregnant wife and feed her lie_ _s_ _because you can’t stand that I have friends that aren’t you?_ _I have a life outside of what you want, Joey._ _”  
_

_The humidity changed, and something hissed behind Joey. “Not about friends, Henry.” The damp heat rose to a feverish high, the lights above Joey flickering with amber before going out. “Never was.” The liar’s face went blank, eyes consumed with black._

_A shadow moved behind him, dark and with spines across its back.  
_

_A gloved hand slammed itself onto the desk beside Joey, who didn’t even breathe. A steady stream of ink dribbled from his hairline. A humanoid hand joined the gloved one on the other side as a set of curled, slick horns rose from behind the chair._

_The Ink Demon, dripping and crueler than anything, fixed Henry with its undying grin and lunged over Joey’s head. Wide, flat teeth split open to-_

Henry awoke with a gasp. Of all the times to remember that day. He exhaled sharply and lay limp on the cot. “What the hell,” Hazel eyes scanned the room, finding Sammy with his head resting mask down on his bent knee not far away. Buddy was snoring lightly in his hammock.

Slowly standing from the cot, Henry quietly headed to the bathroom. Splash chilly water on his face, take deep breaths, try to sleep after a little time passed. He just had to get his mind off that dream. Dream. How did Joey ruin the word _dream?_

The water was cool and tinted with ink. He didn’t want to think about what happened if he drank it. It never affected him, even when he’d fallen into the deepest lakes of the stuff. Running damp hands through his hair, the man turned back for the main room.

Going for a walk wasn’t an option; Buddy hid the lever as always. The lever always went in a toolbox, but Henry didn’t know which one, or if that’s where it’d be. The noise might wake Buddy. Not worth it. The cartoonist took a deep breath and quietly let it out. Again, in, hold, out. Just like he’d learned after he left the army; just keep breathing and the shakes would fade-

“Henry.”

Breathed gently enough to get his attention, but not startle him. He turned to look back over his shoulder to find Sammy awake and watching him intently.

Head tilting forward in question, Sammy asked, “What’s wrong?”

Henry swallowed, pulling off his glasses to clear the lenses on his shirt. “Nothing.” Affixing the frames to perch on his nose, he smiled faintly in the dark. “Take the cot. I’m not laying down anytime soon.”

The ink man tilted his head further and stood. He didn’t quite have bones, but his body remembered how to move if he had them. Careful not to make too much noise, Sammy headed to the table and sat where Buddy usually sat. Folding his arms at the man, he watched uncertainly. “Nor am I.”

“Not up for talking.”

“Fine.” He didn’t move.

“Go to bed.”

“No.” But it had no bite.

Henry sat back with a huff. The Bendy clock ticked aimlessly. Buddy snorted and shifted. Sammy stayed still, save his lungs at doing their purpose once more.

Brief noises that meant safety. “Sammy.”

The ink man’s head snapped his way.

“Do you… remember the day I quit?”

Sammy frowned. “No.”

“ _I_ remembered it. Changed into a nightmare.”

Sammy nodded once, slow and uncertain. “I could try to remember it.”

“I don’t want you to push yourself.”

“Little sheep, your shepherd is stronger than he seems.”

Henry frowned in the dark. “It wasn’t a pleasant day.”

“I’d worry if it were.” He carefully picked up the sketchbook from the table. Henry hadn’t shown that he’d rather Sammy not look. He hummed, carefully flipping it to the most recent scrawls. A roughly drawn stove, Buddy from behind, an intact Edgar on his back and laughing, Sammy playing his banjo… the half-done portrait hurt a little. Sammy had no mask in it, and the eyes and mouth were just barely-

_-had a deadline looming, the guillotine ready to send some poor soul to the chopping block if Tombstone Picnic wasn’t ready in a week. Halfway done, serviceable, but Sammy had to see part two. He had to know what horrid shadow was scaring the darling devil. Had to get this right. He was itching to get some music done!_

_  
He’d have knocked, had he shut the door. But Henry’s office door was halfway open, and the man inside was packing a plethora of things into a briefcase. “-him so much of my time for what?” Henry growled, not realizing Sammy had leaned close to the door.  
_

_Sammy’s heart sank, brows furrowed. “Henry?” He leaned into the room.  
_

_The auburn turned, tensed, then turned back to what he was doing. “I can’t talk. I’m done here.”_

_  
A deep frown creased Sammy’s face. Who the hell upset one of the _ _kindly_ _people in this place? “What’s happened?”  
_

_Henry turned and fixed Sammy with red-rimmed eyes. “Bull is what happened.”  
_

_Sammy’s free hand tapped out a tango. “Bull?”  
_

“ _I’m nothing to Joey and his empire, so nothing’s what he gets.” Henry pulled on his coat and headed for the door. He clapped a hand to Sammy’s shoulder on the way out. Hazel eyes set harder than stone. “Sammy, when you get the chance, get out of here.”  
_

_Sammy’s confusion faded into concern. “Henry, i-it can’t be that bad.”  
_

_Removing his hand, Henry sighed, smiling in a strained, sad manner that made the blond even more tense. “Then don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  
_

_There was a flurry of footsteps in the hall. Joey Drew burst into the room, grip on the handle tight enough his knuckles burned white. “Henry, I can explain-”  
_

_Henry frowned. “I quit.”  
_

_Joey was shouldering into the office with his smile burning across his cheeks. “Henry, ol’ pal, I know we can-”  
_

_A tanned hand shot upward, finger an inch from Joey’s nose. “We are not pals, and you made clear we were never partners. I don’t even want to hear your name.”  
_

_Joey almost seemed intimidated by the_ _shorter_ _man, hands raised in a placating gesture. “Henry, you know I’d never-”  
_

“ _Get out of my way.”  
_

“ _Henry!”  
_

 _The cartoonist grit his teeth and growled,_ _“You son of a bitch, move!” On the last word, Henry gripped a fistful of Joey’s_ _shirt_ _and pushed him back out of the doorway like he were nobody._ _Right then_ _, he looked like nobody.  
_

 _Sammy followed out the door and paused after a few steps. He watched Henry head to the exit, turning a corner out of sight. “_ _Henry!”_ _A noxious combination of_ _ire_ _and_ _disarray_ _churned his gut. He turned to Joey, who stood next to him with his mouth agape. “Joey, what the hell did you do?”  
_

_Joey wasn’t smiling anymore. The man looked like a kicked puppy. “Get back to your songs, Sammy.” He pivoted, slinking back to his office.  
_

_Sammy’d never seen the gratingly jovial man deflate that far. From his point of view, he had that coming. But now what? What the hell was this place going to do without the lead animator? He looked back into the room, jaw set. So… that was it, then.  
_

_Something on the floor caught his attention. Bending at the knees, the blond carefully plucked the small, worn sketch pad from the ground. Flipping open the cover, he found Henry Stein’s name glaring up at him. Filled pages of old works, ideas, prompts, and the lil devil himself all but glowed from the pages.  
_

_Taking the deepest breath he could, Sammy let it, and his turbulent emotions, out in a sigh. It could have bowled over an army with the sadness and unease it held. Joey’s idiocy lead to this… but moping wouldn’t solve anything. Wouldn’t bring Henry back. He pulled the animator’s door closed, light still on. “Shake it off, Sammy.” He tucked the pad into his pocket and headed back to the music department. There’d be a memo. There’d be questions. He’d hold on to the pad if Henry came back, and they could talk about it all then. “There’s too much-”  
_

“-left to do.” The musician glanced at the hand still holding the pad. “Oh.” He leaned back in the chair and frowned. “Oh, that was awful,” he deadpanned before looking back at Henry. “You’re a fright when you’re angry.”

Henry couldn’t help but smile sadly at the ink man. “Which is why that’s all for Joey.”

Sammy nodded, brow knotted behind his mask. His mouth twitched in thought, before he lay his hand on the table, palm up.

Henry took it without looking over. He welcomed the chilled grip in his own in this dark, warm room.

Everyone needed an anchor.

\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, little math here. I figure each loop in the studio lasts anywhere from one to four weeks. On average, a loop takes 2 weeks inside the studio, and aging isn’t a thing because of how wonky time is.
> 
> Outside the studio? We’ll get to how that works eventually.


	15. Quinze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stolen, lost, found.

**Stolen, lost, found.**

/

Henry had gone back to the cot at some point, but sleep didn’t find him. No amount of laying with his eyes shut and listening to everything hum, tick, breathe, could lull him.

He waited for Buddy to be up and about before rolling out of the cot himself.

Sammy didn’t budge, save for breathing. Maybe he could really sleep now? The cartoonist carefully padded past the ink man out into the main room.

Buddy was waiting for him, gloved hands folded and a thoughtful frown creasing his face.

“Hey, Buddy.”

Buddy nodded at the chair across from him.

The cartoonist’s brow furrowed, lips pursed. He took a seat, grimacing slightly at his back’s protest. He spied the sheet of paper under the wolf’s hands. “There something you need to tell me?”

Buddy nodded. Brow still rumpled comically, the wolf pushed the note forward.

ILL STAY HERE LAST TIME WAS BAD SAMMY WASNT WITH YOU IN THE HAUNTED HOUSE

Henry gave a nod at the paper and passed it back. “Glad you’re giving it a shot. Thank you.”

Buddy’s brows smoothed as he gave the sheet back, and he scrawled something else.

SAMMY MAKES YOU SMILE SO HE MATTERS

Henry chuckled. “Yeah. He does. So do you. It’s why we’re giving this a shot.”

Buddy nodded and gave a smile of his own.

Something moved behind Buddy, and Henry leaned to the side to see. Just Sammy. Good. Not Bendy. Also good. “Morning.”

Sammy stretched his arms over his head and let out a satisfied groan. “Did you sleep?”

“I’m good.” He lied.

Sammy lowered his arms and tilted his head a bit. “Really.”

“Yeah.”

Buddy smiled and waved at the ink man. Sammy gave a wave back.

“Buddy’ll stay back this time.”

“Good.” Sammy approached the table and picked up his banjo from where he’d left it the night before. “Are we heading out now, or later?”

“Up to you.”

“Lets…” He sighed and hung his head. “I’m not trying to be troublesome, Henry, but I can’t think of what to do. We go now, we’re done sooner. But it all happens sooner than later, so we can wait… We’ve done this before, it shouldn’t be this hard,” he groused, lips pursed behind his mask.

The cartoonist smiled gently and looked over at the wolf. “Buddy? Any ideas?”

Buddy waved him off and pulled the toolbox from beside him. He popped the lid open and gestured to the lever inside with raised brows.

Sammy paused. “Oh. Guess we’ll be out of your hair, then.”

The wolf gave a silent chuckle.

“He has to get the toy room doors, but after that he can head back this way.” Henry gave the wolf a soft, hopeful smile. “I’ll heat the soup, then Sammy and I can head out. That good for you?”

Buddy nodded and flashed a thumbs up.

/

Completing the mad angel’s quests felt strange without Buddy hanging back at the elevator. Henry and Sammy were an efficient duo, even if Susie was keen on stating otherwise. Still, Henry couldn’t recall having a faster finish time for her demands. He’d have timed it were this not hell on earth.

Standing beside Sammy, Henry managed a tired smile. “What’ll she say when we’re meant to ascend?”

Sammy pursed his lips. “Something insulting, I bet.”

Henry huffed a chuckle, but the unease he felt in his gut didn’t fade. He chalked it up to not having Buddy behind him. “We’re not going anywhere but down.”

Sammy smirked. “Like a bad roller coaster.”

The cartoonist’s brows rose in confusion. “What sort of coasters have you been on?”

“Mm. A few. Wait, does the haunted house ride count?” His tone suggested genuine concern.

“No, that doesn’t count.”

He shrugged. “Oh, well then, not _enough_.”

Overhead, the mad angel spoke. Her voice was that sweet, light tone that came before the fall. _“Are you ready to ascend, my little errand boy? I hope there’s room for you two in heaven.”_ The elevator climbed higher still. Susie spoke again, feather-light and razor sharp . _“It’s so strange… I expected the wolf to be with you.”_

Henry set his jaw and glanced to Sammy.

The musician was looking back, frame tensed and left hand tapping out a tarantella. He fidgeted his right hand against the handle of the axe.

Susie’s voice oozed like tar from the speaker above. _“Poor Boris can’t stay away from danger, sweet little thing_ _acts more puppy than wolf_ _._ _Is that why you like him so much?_ _”_ The darkness that throttled her voice crept forward. _“_ _O_ _h, silly me… you call him Buddy, don’t you?_ _”_

Henry’s mouth went dry. Ice leeched up and around his limbs from his chest.

Sammy said nothing. Didn’t even breathe, yet his free fist shook from tension.

A chuckle that boiled over into that familiar, crazed cackle just as the floor dropped out. The elevator cage hung on its cables for a mere moment, then fell. It plummeted faster than Henry’s stomach. Amber sparks shot free of the sides as the walls sped by them.

“ _I’ve known about your games since that pathetic prophet joined your side!_ _I’ve recalled hell you’ll never know, Henry! But t_ _aking that_ _wolf_ _apart and putting him back however I want?_ _A thousand times better than dissecting failed Butcher Gang clones!_ _”_ Her deep, gargling undertone growled with twisted mirth. _“_ _You even_ _boxed him up_ _for me this time! How sweet_ _of you_ _!”_

Henry’s knees buckled as the elevator hit a bump that sent him sprawling. Sammy did the same next to him but crawled forward. The prophet threw himself over Henry’s like a shield. The ink in his mind roared with cries of _Protect your lord! Shield him! He must not perish!_ He had to obey. He had to do something.

Susie screeched, and the elevator vibrated from her manic fury. _“You can’t hide your theft from me! Don’t you get it? I will have my perfect Boris! It doesn’t matter where you hide him or who you have to help you, Henry! He is MINE!”_

Crash. Dark.

Henry came to to find Sammy crouched nearby. He sat, free arm resting between his knees to balance himself, the other gripping the axe which sat blade down over one shoulder.

The ride back down to hell surged from his fuzzy memory. “Shit.”

Sammy said nothing, but ducked his head in agreement.

Henry’s expression soured as he gazed up at the ceiling. “So. Now we know.” He tried to get to his feet and promptly gave up. Getting up felt too difficult, anyway. “Buddy’s dead no matter what we do.”

An inaudible sigh. “Seems so.”

Henry rolled onto his side and pushed himself to his knees. “Okay.” Taking a deep breath, he pulled off his glasses and wiped them down. “We can’t get to the safe house from here.” Affixing the frames, the cartoonist sighed with a heaviness that could bring down the moon. “You standing in her path won’t work. Hiding him won’t work.” He swallowed, eyes on the floor. “How the hell do we keep him safe?”

Sammy shifted his weight to one knee and grasped Henry’s nearest shoulder. _Comfort was allowed. He_ _holds your hand. He holds you_ _._ “We’ll figure something out. Not this time, but soon enough. We know now what doesn’t work. Has to be a start.”

Henry nodded, hoping soon would _be_ soon.

\

“Okay.” Henry frowned at Sammy, who had slipped the axe into a free loop on his overalls. The two of them were before the platform of frozen lost ones that posed in surrender and acceptance around a large Bendy statue. “You’re gonna have to explain this to me.”

“Not much to say. I certainly didn’t tell them to do that.”

“They’re gone by the time I come back.”

Sammy nodded. “They’re easily startled, like rabbits.”

The cartoonist continued on to the archives. He was regretting not being able to sleep the night before. Inside the circular room, books lined round shelves and encompassed a small office within. “Alright. That tape on the table is another one from Susie. Dunno if you wanna play it, but-”

Sammy had already grabbed the near chair and sat. It was a comical picture, in a way. The inked man sitting so casually, mug and book nearby like he were at a cafe and not halfway to hell. He frowned at the tape player. “Off we go.” He hit the play button with his middle finger.

“ _They told me I was perfect for the role. Absolutely perfect. Now Joey's going around saying things behind closed doors. I can always tell. Now he wants to meet again tomorrow, says he has an ‘opportunity’ for me. I'll hear him out. But if that smooth talker thinks he can double cross an angel and get away with it, well, oh, he's got another thing coming. Alice, ooh, she doesn't like liars._ _ **”**_

Henry’s brow furrowed at the tape before he looked back at Sammy.

He’d placed a curled fist before his mouth in thought. “Allison merely played Alice, but Susie wanted to _be_ Alice. That much I know. It’s… it was how Joey convinced her to-” He paused and cleared his throat. “I only heard it, but I’ll never forget it. She was first to go into the machine.” He frowned from his chair and leaned backward. “I let it happen. To appease the ink.” He managed a sharp laugh as a sneer curdled his voice. “No wonder she despises me. I used her like I did everyone else!”

The cartoonist blinked and peered over his glasses. “Are you using _me?_ ”

The ink man’s theatrics cut out with a swivel of his masked head. “What?”

A brow raise. “Sammy, is that what’s happening?”

Sammy quickly stood and stomped forward, stopping just shy of being too close. “You think that of me?”

Henry didn’t budge or break eye contact. “I’m not upset, I just want an answer.”

“No!” _My lord, please believe me!_ “I’d never, I-” He’d felt his voice fraying into many, and took a breath. Steady now. _Henry would not harm him._ There had to be a reason he was asking. “ _No_. Not you. Never you, Henry.”

Henry nodded and lay a hand against the ink man’s upper arm. “Yeah, I know.”

A troubled huff. “Then why ask that?”

The cartoonist removed his hand and smiled calmly. “So _you’d_ know it, too.” He turned to a jutting book and pushed it in with the back of his hand. “I gotta push five in, shouldn’t take long.” He made his way to the second book and paused. “Uh, I usually have a vision around this part.”

Sammy cocked his head. “Vision?”

“Mostly doors flapping and screeching noises.” He left the circle and pushed in a second book on his way out. Sammy stayed behind, watching him through the gaps above the books. Pushing the third book in, nothing happened. “Two left.” About the halfway point to the next book, Henry paused and looked back at Sammy. “Can you come here?”

The ink man made his way over and paused at his side. “What is it?”

“You know how you remember something and can end up on the ground?”

A nod.

“That doesn’t happen with the visions, but that could change.”

Sammy gave a soft smile. He’d gladly do what was being asked. “I’ll be close, my little sheep.”

“Thank you.” The two made their way to book number four, and Henry pushed it in without another thought.

_**A scarlet film fell across his vision in a flashbulb of static. A distant screech overwhelmed the clattering slam and flap of doors and rattling of old books.** _

Over in a moment, back in reality where Sammy was grasping both of Henry’s shoulders in a death grip.

Henry shook his head to clear it, gaze refocusing back onto the battered Bendy mask. “What happened?”

“What _happened?_ Henry, you said nothing about screaming!” said the deeply distressed ink man.

“It’s loud, but it’s not terrible.” What did he know, with tinnitus that never faded?

Sammy’s mouth turned down in a sharp frown. “ _You_ screamed.” His grip relaxed, but only to run his hands down to rest firmly against Henry’s arms. “You did _nothing_ but open your mouth and scream.”

“I screamed?” The cartoonist focused on his throat, but he didn’t feel any pain that’d come from a scream.

“It… Damn.” Sammy released one of his arms and tapped out a tarantella. “It came from you, but it didn’t _sound_ like you.”

Worry unfurled deep in his gut. “What did it sound like?”

His hand stopped. “The Well.”

Henry frowned, brow creasing at the implications. He said nothing and turned to the last book, giving it a push. The doors opened, and he headed out to the bridge. “What’s the well like?”

Sammy followed, gesticulating with a free hand as he went. “Dark. Wet. Crowded and barren. Horribly loud, yet dreadfully silent.” Clenching his fists, he focused on Henry’s mosstone back. “Too many things and not enough.” _Screaming well of voices. Dark puddles. A life in black._ He stopped short, craning his head back to get a fuller view of the cavern.

Henry peaked over the edge into the foggy black drop below. “How far down do you think that is?”

“Mm.” The ink man took a step to the edge, frowning crookedly at the blackness below. He kicked a chunk of wood over the side and waited to hear it land below. Silence greeted him. “Too far.” He said in a clipped tone before turning to Henry. “Don’t fall.”

“I never do.” They made their way up the stairs to the bridge. “Okay. We need thick ink for the ink printer. The bridge needs a gear to work.”

“You’re going to _ride_ that rickety thing?” Sammy asked, aghast at the idea.

Henry shrugged, before turning for the retractable pipe that held a swollen searcher. “No other way to Bendy-Land.” He came back with the thick ink shortly and plopped the mass into the printer with a wet sounding smack. He smirked and glanced Sammy’s way. “What note was that?”

Thumb and index tapped in thought. “A slightly sour sounding G.”

Henry huffed a laugh. “Right.” He pulled the crank and grabbed the gear. “Are you okay in this rickety thing?” he asked as he snapped the gear into place.

“One way to find out, little sheep.”

Henry climbed in and held his hand out for Sammy to take. “Please don’t jump in like you do over the railings.”

Sammy took the hand and chuckled. “Ruin all the fun, eh?”

“Speaking of, there’s a mine shaft where I have another vision.”

Stepping into the cart, the ink man snorted. “How is that fun?”

“It’s not. I’m sticking to theme.” The cartoonist grabbed the support cable with a sigh. “And neither is the part where this thing gets stuck.”

Sammy grabbed the other side of the cable and tensed like an angry cat. “Fantastic.”

With a shudder, the cart came to a stop, swaying slowly in its frozen spot on the line. With another sad thump, the cart wandered over to the other side.

The two quickly got out and headed to the mine shaft, Henry leading the way. “Here we go.”

An inked hand grasped Henry’s left shoulder. It helped, in a way. The man took another step forward.

_**Another blinding flashbulb that showered the room in red. Dozens of arms lashed and writhed from broken gaps in the walls. Desperate, searching fingers raked wrathfully at the open air.** _

It ended with a blink. Henry swallowed and glanced at Sammy over his shoulder. “Anything?”

A gentle squeeze. “You didn’t scream this time.” Thankfully. Sammy let go.

“Good.” They pressed onward into the next room. Chains wove up and down in thick, metal lines from floor to ceiling. The muffled hum of mechanical parts unknown reverberated as the ink machine lowered further and further into the depths.

Susie spoke, an airy taunt in the haze of it all. She just had to gloat. _“My, my. You took your time, didn’t you?”_ Her delight for the horrors she was doing out of sight. _“But better late than never.”_

Sammy scoffed behind Henry as they made it up the stairs.

“ _I think_ _you stopped caring about the poor thing after a while._ _Such a useless creature, only here to make me beautiful._ _”_ Her honeyed tone did nothing to hide her intent. _“_ _He sure doesn’t help you like your pet prophet does._ _Why else would you let your wolf_ _fall into my hands after so many do-overs?”_ She chuckled and went quiet.

The man felt heat rise in his throat and he picked up the pace up the stairs. Tears stung his eyes as guilt creased his brow.

Behind him, the musician muttered fiercely under his breath. “What does _she_ know about care? She never cared for anyone a day in her life aside from herself.” His temper cooled as he brushed the axe head with his fingertips. His ego shouted for payback, but his heart was on keeping his sheep- Henry… going. “Pay her no mind, my little sheep.”

Henry smiled sadly as the lounge came into view. “I try.” But it _stung_.

The record spun on from its perch beside the teapot on the couch. Another couch across from that lay near a miracle booth. The same as always.

The ink man paused behind him, head tilting back to glance about the place. “Henry, is there anything the tool can glean in here?”

Pulling the tool from his back pocket, Henry held it before himself and looked. “Nothing new.” He frowned and tucked the tool into his pocket once more.

Up on the balcony limped a lost one. His broken cries called out over the gloomy record spinning on the couch. “He always finds me! Oh no! I just wanna go home! When do we go home? When do we go home?” It slowly limped back out of view.

The cartoonist sighed lowly, hazel gaze flicking back to the door ahead. How many were there down here to save?

Sammy straightened and stalked past Henry while trailing a hand against his arm. “I’ll go first, my little sheep. Allow me to inform my flock of what we mean to do.”

The ease with which he slipped into being the Prophet sent a wave of anxiety through Henry. Still, may as well let the ink man work.

The door opened to the dozens of lost ones huddled in clusters. Golden eyes glowed from the pain as they all looked at the two of them. Henry hung back, but Sammy strode forward.

His tone shifted from the reemerging sharpness of his old one to a quiet, soothing lilt. It would have given Henry comfort if it wasn’t the same voice Sammy used in the sacrifice room. “My devoted flock, I have come with news. Worry not, for you haven’t been forgotten. No one here has. You have my word.” Sammy gestured to Henry behind him with an upturned palm. “This man is here to guide us to the light. All I ask of you now is to stay out of our path and tell others to do the same.”

Some lost ones swayed, some didn’t even budge. Those forlorn amber eyes fixated onto Sammy with such distant, agonized hope.

  
A lost one near the door blinked at Henry. They raised a finger to point at him. “I... remember you,” they uttered softly. “Just a little. Long ago but just today.”

Sammy turned from where he stood, arms raised in surprise. Very few of the lost ones could speak, and he didn’t quite recall who this one had been.

Henry didn’t see a need to fear. “You do?”

The lost one nodded, and just barely touched the man's forearm with their fingertips. “You’ve been here before.” The poor thing’s eyes upturned at the corners in a melted smile. “You’ll be here again.”

Henry felt a lump in his throat, but he forced it back with a smile and a nod. “If you remember, then we’re doing the right thing.”

The lost one nodded and stepped back, head bowed.

The lost ones parted like water for him, giving a wide berth. “We have to go through the vent to get there,” he muttered. This place, with the lost one who remembered and dozens who didn’t, added to the pressure of his role in freedom. So many loops lay behind him and he didn’t feel enough progress was being made… but standing around feeling bad wouldn’t help.

Sammy tugged the vent cover free and climbed inside without a word, flashlight in hand as he disappeared into the dark. Henry was close behind, leaving the lost ones alone once more.

\


	16. Seize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many, many mind games

**Many, many mind games.**

/

Crawling behind Sammy through an air vent wasn’t where Henry thought this would lead. Still, better to have him near than not have him at all, even if the view was less than stellar.

“Bendy pops up up ahead.” He then frowned. “Turn right after that. I know you can sense him, but-”

“I appreciate it, little sheep.” The faint pulse that was the ink demon grew and thrummed in the back of Sammy’s mind.

An open vent came into view… but there was no terrible screech or slamming of mismatched hands.

The ink demon slowly stood and came into view, face pressed to the grate, smile fixed and vibrating. Even while lacking eyes it was unquestionably looking at Henry. The thin, humanoid fingers of its ungloved hand curled into the gap between the bars. It made no noise, save the constant drip of ink. With a tilt of its head, the ink demon let out a grumbling noise and two brief grunts at Henry, before slinking slowly out of sight.

Henry frowned, brows pinched at the retreating demon. It had changed its patterns, but still tried to hurt him whenever the chance came up. The bony thing just confused him further, but… Henry tapped the leg in front of him. “That’s new.”

“How so?”

“Usually, he shushes me and leaves.”

“He _shushes_ you? Like a child?”

“Yup.”

Sammy shook his head and crept forward. “Too much noise irks him, but m- the ink demon isn’t one for being patient.” _My Lord_ would not cross his lips so long as he had lips at all. Not for Bendy, not for Henry.

Henry followed and pointedly looked away from the grate that showed a lost one bashing its head into a wall. “You’ve said it ignores most noises, but what does it do when it _can’t_ ignore something?”

“If he likes it, he lets it continue. If he doesn’t… splat.” Sammy met the end of the ventilation shaft with a grumble and a sharp shove to get it open. The grate dislodged and fell forward with a clang, making him flinch. He didn’t even want to know what note that was. Sammy pulled himself forward and out of the shaft with a grunt and managed to not fall on his face… mask. He turned back to Henry and held out his free hand.

Henry took it and carefully worked his way out of the opening.

Sammy tilted his head. “How did you get out of the vent without help before?”

“The same way you get your pants on, I guess,” Henry said, tongue-in-cheek.

The ink man snorted a laugh and promptly to let go of Henry’s hand. _Don’t be grabby. Don’t be greedy._

“We’re headed up there next.” Henry headed for the stairs to where the Bendy-Land model sat. It was inside of a massive Bendy head trashcan topper. Kind of fitting. He had to admit, a theme park just for Sillyvision creations was interesting, but not exactly sensible. The toons had been popular, but not enough to garner an entire theme park.

He could have told Joey that if their friendship hadn’t gone to hell in a handbasket.

Henry looked up at the multitude of blueprints and concept art that lined the inside of the head. Bertrum had the eye of an artist, at least from an architectural standpoint.

Behind him, Sammy drew close and looked around. “Mm… this doesn’t feel familiar.”

“Well, there’s a tape on the table. Might help.”

“Might.” He hit the play button and circled the table. The drawings may have meant nothing, but they were interesting to look at.

_"For forty years, I've built attractions that stagger the imagination! Colossal wonders such as the world has never seen! I have earned my legacy with sweat. But right in front of everyone... high level investors, Wall Street tycoons, the ever-tactless Joey Drew introduces me, the great Bertrum Piedmont, as Bertie! Like I was his child. You may be paying me, Mister Drew! But you don't own me! I'll build you a park bigger than anything YOU could ever possibly conceive! But before you go taking any bows, Mister Drew, know that this grand achievement will belong to me... and to me alone."_

Bertrum’s tape never failed to make Henry grimace. Ego with talent to back it never seemed to go well for people who ended up in the studio. He peered at Sammy over his glasses. “What do you know about Bertrum?”

“Not much.” Sammy plucked a scale model from the table, giving the bland little cube a smirk. “We shared a passion for our work, but steered clear of each other.” The ink man hummed a bit and looked back at Henry. “We both _hated_ Joey. But the parts of Bertrum I remember were… mm.” Sammy rubbed at his scalp and grimaced. “Oh. Fantastic. More fainting.” The sharp voice of the musician cracked from under the smooth calm. He planted a hand on the table to steady himself, a tight fist around the tiny model. The ink that enveloped him writhed and shimmered. “Henry, this one-”

_"-to call me Bertrum.” The massive man said with a smile. He looked about the room of people and his gaze fell on Sammy. “You’re the man in charge of sound, I take it?”_

_  
Sammy fought a sneer. The metallic patina that coated the back of his tongue reminded him repeatedly that he needed another dose. But, business. “How’d you ever guess?” Sammy frowned at the blueprints before him. Why was he called in for this so early on?_

_  
But his snark made no impact. “Luck. Now then!” The man pointed upwards at the blueprints tacked to the wall. “The park should span four hundred acres at the start, but we’re looking forward to expansion once the park truly takes off.” _

_  
On and on, just noise. Chatter. He could do something so much better with his time than stand around having a bull session about a theme park… like hiding in his sanctuary to get something done for once, or adding more ink to his coffee. Something that wasn’t standing around. The ink whispered so sweetly in his brain, called his name like a prayer- _

_  
“-and that’s where you come in, Mister Lawrence.” Bertrum’s voice pulled the blond from his dour mood for a moment. “Mister Lawrence? Are you still with us?” He joked, but he didn’t look happy at not being given full attention._

_  
Hushed whispers fluttered in his mind. Come back, they purred from the blackness. Claws of irritation pricked up Sammy’s back. “You’re hard to ignore. What’s the point of me being here? Nothing’s built yet.”  
_

“ _Rides need music.” The giant man shot Sammy a testy look. “I want you to think up music for these pieces. Fun, bright, what you think will work for these rides of mine.”  
_

_**Come back.** Sammy nodded. “I better get on that now, then.” He turned and left the room, even as he heard many voices call out for him. But they didn’t matter. The call inside his head did. It wasn’t madness. He knew madness. This was the ink. That cursed, cruel, fascinating ink.  
_

_**Come here. Sammy. Come here now.**   
_

_It knew his name. He couldn’t refuse it. A dose of ink, just enough, a dram. He could get through the day if he just got more of it.  
_

_**Please come back. Let us in. Let us in.** The ink hushed and calmed the voices, but they always crept back after a brief time. He didn’t know how, but he knew he needed to get a hold of more of it. **Let us love you. Sing for us. Play for us**. He had to listen if only to shut them up. **Let us in so we may love you.** The lithe man broke into a sprint and bolted down the hall- _

-and promptly hit a wall with all his might. Papers fluttered to the floor, and he felt the stabs of pain lance over his chest. He fell back with a gasp of air and lay still. Well, he did _not_ miss the sensation of having the wind knocked out of him.

“Jeez, Sammy!” Henry approached carefully, bewildered at the speed with Sammy launched himself. “What was that?”

“That!” The ink man rolled onto his back, mask facing the ceiling with a desperate need to catch his breath. “Was awful.”

Henry frowned and squat down, wincing at the tinge in his back. “What was? What did you remember?”

“I remembered a pinch of Bertrum Piedmont-” he rolled onto his front and balanced on his elbows- “And the ink.”

Henry blinked slowly. “The ink?”

“It _liked_ me,” he spat. “Offered things and dug around in my head to know what to do and say.” He looked up with a forced smile. “I flung myself headlong into its embrace. It wanted to be inside of me.”

The cartoonist shifted uncomfortably. “What even is the ink?”

Sammy carefully pushed himself onto his feet and stood, still trying to catch his breath. “I’ll ask it next time I fall in.”

“Do _not_ fall in.”

“Oh, fine.” He limped over to the table, glancing over the model of what had become the corpse of some huge dream. “It’s… strange. I utterly lost myself to the ink just as Bendy-Land was coming to fruition. I didn’t even get to _try_ making ride music for anything. There was some party to garner funding, but…” Sammy cocked his head, setting down the model piece where he’d found it. “Did Bendy-Land ever exist outside of this place?”

“Nope.”

He waved a hand at the scale model and smirked. “Ah. Not surprised. Joey was terrible with money. The ways you kept Joey in check were gone along with you. No one noticed until it was too late.” He nodded, mind distant for a moment. His gaze fell on Henry, those sweet, muddled feelings creeping high inside of him. “Yes. When the ink first consumed me, I remembered you and how you’d kept Joey from coming unglued… and _fury_ was all I knew when I remembered you had gone.”

Henry lowered his head, looking anywhere but at Sammy. “And now?”

He shrugged dramatically. “Now, I want to kick Mister Drew’s teeth in.”

Henry managed a chuckle and turned for the park itself. “Get in line.”

Sammy followed, snark seeping into his tone. “There’s a line?”

Henry smiled at Sammy over his shoulder. “Everyone gets a turn.”

\

Alright. Henry could confirm a few things on this loop. Flipping the switches was easier with two people. Fighting Bertrum was easier with two people. Fitting two people into one booth was still cramped… and Sammy was being more cautious about how tightly he grabbed around his waist. Not a death grip like the first few times it happened, but he chalked that up to Sammy still being off from being thrust back into acting as Prophet.

The ink man frowned at the haunted house entrance. “I already know this’ll be a nightmare.”

The cartoonist sighed and thumped himself into the seat. Susie was remarkably quiet since she’d gloated in the stairwell. “Always is. See you soon.” The car trundled down the track in silence. As the car pulled into the main room, not even the music played from its lone record player in the corner.

Maybe _this_ was Susie’s idea of melodrama. He didn’t quite know or care. He just wanted to get this over with.

His car came to a stop after the last set of doors, and the man braced himself. The massive white mitts grappled with the front of the car with a low groan, and Buddy’s head flopped into view.

“Buddy-”

The brute groaned and flung the car across the room.

Henry landed with a dizzying thud and lay still. Just had to get his bearings and breathe.

Sammy leaped out of his car and ran to be between the man and the brute.

“Don’t-” Henry coughed and rolled over on his front to stand. “Don’t get puddled. I can’t lose you both again.”

The ink man’s head snapped Henry’s way with a sinking pain in his chest. “No promises-”

But Buddy bellowed and lumbered their way, and Sammy took off. The brute swayed on his feet with mouth open and leaking. He didn’t raise his arms and roar, he just stayed in place and leaked.

What the hell did she do to him?

“This way!” Sammy yelled, trying to get Buddy’s attention. The wolf turned and limped painfully his way. “That’s right! Over here!”

“Sammy, I said don’t get puddled!” Henry yelled from his spot on the floor.

“He can’t even run! He’s-” But as Buddy turned to the voice of Henry, the ink man paused. His mouth hung open in shock. “Henry!” Sammy called over the lethargic roar of Buddy. The beast turned his way again. Sammy lifted the axe and took off, still shouting as he ran. “His head! Look-” the brute hurled a crate his way and the ink man fell as it landed too close for comfort.

“What…” The man pushed himself up from the floor, still dizzy and half-awake after hitting his head. He squinted behind his cracked lenses, trying to piece together what Sammy had seen that he missed- oh. Oh _god_. He saw it now. The gaping hole in the back of the poor thing’s head. Susie hadn’t just rebuilt him, this round she cored him like an apple.

“ _Oh, you finally noticed?”_ The twisted angel cackled from her hiding place. _“I figure he can’t remember you with no mind to remember with!_ _End_ _them_ _, my brute! Destroy_ _them_ _!”_

Buddy moaned, not even trying to talk, and limped slowly Henry’s way.

“ _What do you think of my work, Henry?_ _Does it hurt? Isn’t it ugly? Isn’t it perfect?”_ She gave a sweet, contented sigh and drew closer to her microphone. _“Maybe next time, you won’t be so keen to hide what’s mine.”_

Henry watched where he stood. Was this what he had to look forward to now? His wolf broken and tortured just for fun? For beauty? He was vaguely aware of Sammy calling for him.

Buddy grasped a shoulder in each massive mitt and lifted Henry from where he stood. The exed-out eyes were blank, and the ruined mouth hung open. The brute just held him in the air, wobbling and wheezing.

Henry blinked his tear-filled eyes at the wolf holding him up. “I’m sorry, Buddy.”

The white face twitched at the nose, and the wolf growled. Two quick grunts over and over, quicker and more frantic, like the wolf were trying to capture a rabbit running in the woods. “Hng…. Rrr….” The wolf managed one try at words before Sammy launched himself up and buried the axe head into Buddy’s skull. It caved like a rotten pumpkin and the beast fell with a splatter.

Even gutted and broken, something of Buddy _remembered_. The cartoonist lay where he’d been dropped, even as Susie screamed overhead and Sammy tried to get him to stand. But… why bother? He’d just have to do this over next time. Always again over and over _next goddamn time._

“ _His mind was in my hands! There was nothing left to remember you with! I don’t care how you did it, but you won’t ruin my fun anymore!”_

Buddy melted away, a glittering puddle, and Susie sprang from her hiding place with a screech.

For all her bragging about knowing they were stuck in a loop, Susie seemed to forget what happened after Buddy’s death.

Rising from a puddle behind her was Allison, her cutlass striking home and splitting from Susie’s breastbone. The twisted angel fell, as she always did.

Sammy stood before the horned woman and the wolf, axe at the ready.

Allison scowled and looked between the two of them. “Both of you, come with us.”

The ink man sneered her way. “I think not.” He adjusted his stance, but looked down at Henry patting his leg. “Henry?”

“Help me up.”

Sammy paused, then did so, keeping an arm around Henry’s back.

“Okay… Alice and Tom.”

Tom squinted and frowned, mechanical hand rapping its fingers to the pipe.

“Sammy. This time, please come with me.”

“I will not be caged, little sheep.”

“Please.”

That tone troubled him, softer and sadder than anything, but the ink man didn’t show it. He huffed and turned his attention back to the duo before him. “Where to?”

Henry lay a hand over the one across his shoulders. “Thank you.” He didn’t have enough fight in him to beg.

The horned woman furrowed her brows, but nodded. “This way.”

/

Scowling from where he sat on the cot, Sammy could safely say that being boarded up into a tiny room was crap. Pure crap. Even with Henry on the cot next to him, it was crap.

The one armed wolf affixed the final board and nodded at his work, before turning to the horned woman who’d held the boards up for him to nail.

Allison’s wide eyes were soft when they fell on the wolf. “You can still go for that supply run if you want to.”

Tom glared their way. Sammy glared back, even with no eyes and a mask.

She tried again. “I’ll be fine, Tom. Promise.” She patted his cheek spot and smiled.

The wolf grumbled before huffing and stalking out of the room. The door clicked shut with a whir of gears behind him.

The horned woman watched the door for a couple seconds, then turned back to the two in the cell. “Henry. I remembered.”

The cartoonists brows lifted. He stood and rested his forearms on the boards. Finally, a bit of hope after this gnarled loop. “How much?”

She smiled, eyes bright. “Some of me. My name, bits of who I was… I remember _Tom_.” Her smile fell. “He was… I married him.”

Wow. “Have you told him?”

“I wouldn’t know where to start.” She looked back over at Sammy, who’d hung back to let them talk. “You weren’t what I expected when Tom and I went into that room.”

A shrug. “Can’t leave Henry to himself in this place. Too many monsters running around.”

“Well… it’s true.” She looked back to Henry and smiled. “But Henry, you were right.” She lay a thin hand over her chest with a nervous fidget to her bow tie. “I have a name, now. _My_ name.”

Henry tiredly smiled back. “Good. You’ll get more as you go. That’s how it is with Sammy, at least.”

She squinted. “Sammy.”

The musician cleared his throat.

She blinked. “I… didn’t realize _you_ knew your name, too.”

Sammy tilted his head forward, frowning her way. “You and Henry are the only ones, then. Knowing who runs about this place, I’d like it kept with the few who know now. But…” He looked over at Henry and stood. “My little sheep, time for sleep.”

Henry smirked his way and leaned on the boards. “I’m fine, Sammy.”

“You’re not. You didn’t sleep last night- don’t argue, Henry,” he sniped when the cartoonist opened his mouth. He grasped gently at Henry’s elbow and lead him to the cot. “I mean it. Rest now. You couldn’t be safer to do so.”

Henry fought off a yawn. “Well… if you insist. Don’t wander off.”

Sammy smiled softly as the cartoonist lay on the cot and shut his eyes. He bent and sat against the wall, facing the boards. He turned his focus to the horned woman still watching them.

She nodded Henry’s way. “We can talk later.”

“I heard that.” Henry mumbled from the cot.

Allison laughed silently and nodded before heading around the wall to where she and Tom slept.

Sammy leaned back against the wall with a silent sigh. Alright… he was worried. Everything from the haunted house up to this point was horrible. What stirred the worst in him was how Henry’d just… collapsed. That look of utter defeat didn’t sit right on Henry. Sammy took a deep breath and let himself fade out into the dark. He couldn’t sleep, but he could rest.

But his mind didn’t. Not for long.

_The blonde woman glanced his way with a confident smile. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week, Mister Lawrence.”  
_

_Sammy frowned, brows lowered. “Three rewrites latter, you damn well better be.”  
_

_Her smile softened. “How’s your cheek?”  
_

_Sammy’s gaze rolled skyward. “Good enough, as with everything else in this place.”  
_

“ _Good to know.” She turned into the recording booth, before shooting him a smile over her shoulder. “I’ll bet you I can get this in one take.”  
_

_Her confidence did nothing for his exhaustion. “If you get this in one take, I’ll owe you lunch.”  
_

_Allison giggled. “Guess I’ll have to nail it.” She pulled the door shut.  
_

_Sammy took a breath before addressing the crew still setting up. “Alright, fair warning, first person to screw this up gets sacrificed on the altar of the lil devil darlin’ himself.” He strode to his podium and grabbed the sheet music. Someone in the back_ _snickered_ _softly. “Laugh_ _among_ _yourselves, but I’m one bad session away from_ _setting this place_ _on fire.” He took up the baton and tapped it for attention. Icy eyes danced across the room, and with a calm_ _down-stroke_ _, they began.  
_

_The harpist plucked their way through the opening bit, and Sammy shot a glance over to the booth to find Allison with her eyes closed, just listening and taking in the sound.  
_

_A honeyed smile, and Allison crooned sweetly into her microphone. “I’m just a lonely angel, sittin’ here on a shelf.”  
_

_Oh… Sammy schooled his surprised expression back to stern concentration. Floored or not, he had a band to lead. As Allison pressed forward, the musician smiled. Susie sang like an angel, but Allison sang like Alice Angel. Brutal as the transition from Susie to Allison had gone, seemed that Joey had picked-_

“-the perfect voice.” Sammy muttered. He looked up past the boards to see the horned woman scratching quietly away at the wall.

Allison paused and turned to shoot him a confused look. “You say something?”

He frowned and lay fingertips to the side of his face. It didn’t hurt, but he swore he felt the ache mentioned in his cheek. “I _remembered_ something. You sang _Lonely Angel_ and got it in one take.”

Her brows lowered. “Sorry, I only know what half those words mean.”

Sammy stood and rested his arms against the low board. “Means you had a fantastic voice with talent behind it.”

Allison set her pen down with a confused scowl. “I don’t remember it.” Her eyes narrowed. “He calls you Sammy, but what does that mean? I knew that was your name, but... _Who_ were you before this place?”

Sammy hummed in thought. “I was a man who made music and lead a band. My job ranged from composition to folly work, all the way down to being Joey Drew’s favorite victim.” He paused and pointed her way. “Joey Drew is responsible for the mess we’re all in.”

She shook her head faintly. “Can’t remember him, but I kind of have something for you, I think.”

“Is that so?”

“Tall, for one thing. Quick and sarcastic… kinda like a… what are those birds that circle in the air?”

He sneered. Rude, but not inaccurate. “ _Vulture_. And that seems to be my leading impression.” Sammy drummed his fingers against the board he’d perched upon. “Tall, temperamental , and a liar.” He huffed and rested his chin on his arm. “Gotta say, that does nothing for _wanting_ to remember who I am. Who’d want to remember being an ass?”

Allison sighed softly, offering Sammy an understanding frown. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.”

“Down here, we’re all sinners.” He glanced over at Henry, out cold on the cot. “Well… mostly.”

Allison’s expression grew lax. “I don’t remember him at all. From before, I mean.”

The ink man scowled, gaze on the floor below. “I did. He was one of the best things about the place back in the early days.”

“Sounds right.”

“He’s the one who made those cute toons, you know. The true creator. Ask for his sketchbook some time. You’ll see what he meant these monsters to be like.”

She blinked at him with parted lips. “ _He_ made them?”

“Yes.”

Allison’s expression turned from surprise and melted to somewhere between the realm of thoughtful and concerned. Possibly calculative, like cogs were going. She drew a thin hand to her mouth. “He made them. That…” She went quiet and turned to the door. “I think Tom’s coming back. We’ll talk later.”

The ink man frowned before pulling away from the boards. “So you say.”

“We will next time.” She smiled and turned back to the wall. “I promise.”

Sammy hated that word. He sat, one leg bent up, and turned to the still sleeping Henry. The easy rise and fall of his chest calmed Sammy, but staring was invasive. How uncouth it was to watch someone sleep…

But so was pulling Henry against him in a booth. Something that prompted him to loosen his grip and let the man be. _Bad Prophet. That is not allowed._ But if Henry didn’t mind or care, why hold back? Sammy sighed quietly and lay back against the wall. No, today had been enough. This loop had been plenty of hell on them both. No more thinking. Just rest.

/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *stares at Bertrum fight* I don’t wanna. ;_;


	17. Dix-sept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One has doubts, the other has faith.

**One** **has doubts,** **the other** **has faith.**

/

Henry’d learned a lot after three-hundred and four loops. Not enough to find freedom, but enough to know he was doing _something_ right. Hard to appreciate when the mistakes were like thorns raking against his heart.

Allison remembered enough to be of help. Sammy was doing better and better each time, despite the fall backs. Some searchers and lost ones would look Henry’s way not with disdain but with… he didn’t want to call it hope. Hope was dangerous.

But the bad? Good god, the bad. Tom still hated him, Buddy wasn’t safe no matter what he did. Susie knew about the loops and used them for her own sadistic pleasure, leaving Buddy mangled a horrid way each time. The Projectionist wasn’t showing much progress. Bertrum was still Bertrum. The Ink Demon still went for the throat whenever it got a chance, even when it tried to speak.

All in all? Henry was feeling the weight. The pressure crushing him under its boot heel. If what the gold ink scrawled across him said was true, he was past the point of breaking. “How many more loops are we going to go through?” Henry asked, mostly to himself. Sitting in the Toy room, not having Susie after them yet, the cartoonist was feeling his age. Did he even _age_ down here?

Sammy shrugged. “However many it takes.” The axe weighed heavily at his hip. He had his back to Henry, watching for Buddy to come back with soup. The wolf volunteered to go off on his own. “And I’ve a delightful feeling this is part of the next step out the door.”

Henry didn’t look up. “How can you know?”

“My little sheep, I’ve seen it happen.” His masked face turned up to the rafters and his arms spread wide, as if he spoke to a congregation rather than just one man. “I am always here to be sure that things change.” He pulled his hands in and stared at his palms. All five fingers present and twitching at the thrill of more coming back. “I am part of the progress being made! I am _proof_ that this is working in our favor.” He drew them to his chest, feeling the heartbeat he’d only come to know a few loops ago. “Soon, I can taste it, we will be free of this place. _You_ will set us free.”

“... what if I can’t?”

Sammy faltered, turning to the man on the steps. His heart sank and sped at the sight.

“Sammy.” Henry looked up slowly, tears brimming in his eyes. “What if I can’t set you free?”

The ink man approached quickly, hands raised and unsure how to proceed. “Henry?”

“We’ve been at this so _long_. I’ve been here hundreds of loops, but everyone else? So much longer. I don’t want them putting faith in me only to find we’re stuck.” And he was truly believing they really were forever stuck.

The prophet lowered his hands and dipped to his knees before the cartoonist. “Doubt isn’t unknown down here, but hope means so much more.” It hurt seeing someone who’d endured so much cracking, but he knew it had to happen at some point. Sammy leaned forward and lay a tentative hand on the man's shoulder. “Why do you doubt yourself now after coming so far? After so much progress?”

“Progress,” Henry sighed shakily and removed his glasses, the same hand raking his scalp. “We’re at _t_ _hree_ _hundred and four_ loops. You, Buddy, Allison, Tom… there’s still so many lost ones left down here and I don’t know if I can get through to them all!” His voice cracked on the last word and he thumped a fist at the step to his left. “There is so much left to do and I’m just one man.”

Sammy nodded from his kneeling position. “That is true...” His hand moved up and down the man's arm, feeling the warmth of him underneath his inked hand. “But you’re not alone in it.”

“I’m so tired.” Henry dropped his gaze and stared at the floorboards. “I’m tired of seeing others hurt. Even knowing the next turn will mean you’re back.”

An inky hand grasped Henry’s other arm. “ _You_ aren’t the one who put us here.”

“I still left.”

“You couldn’t have known _this_ is what would happen.” Sammy leaned forward, the softness he’d used on so many frightened lost ones seeping through. “The future’s not ours, but hope _is_.” He told himself over the whispers in his head that he _was_ allowed to do this. He could offer comfort, he could listen.

“How aren’t you tired of this?”

“Mm. Being pushed through multiple iterations of the same old song-and-dance opens more than your eyes. You are a mote of light in the dark. You’ve been nothing but kind, as you’ve always been. It’s a rarity I’ll guard with my life.” Sammy had stopped petting Henry, both hands to his shoulders with a firm grip. “Your path is my path, Henry. I can’t think of a better man to follow.”

Tears spilled over and Henry felt something painful unknot behind his breastbone. The cartoonist fell forward, buried his face in Sammy’s shoulder and cried. He gripped Sammy to him, not caring about the ink that stained him so badly.

The musician gasped silently, arms open. He… did not expect _th_ _is_. But over the whispers of the ink and the feelings he still could not silence or take in, Sammy hugged back. Even as a human, he was lacking in this department… but he tried. His right arm remained across Henry’s back, his left tracing up to stroke the back of his head. “I’ve got you.” Coal black fingers threaded through faded auburn hair.

A quiet moment of stress and calm, gone in a minute in that grim factory room.

The cartoonist pulled away, reddened eyes fixed on the floor still. “I can’t do this.”

Sammy gave Henry’s shoulders a squeeze. “You can. You _are_.”

“How can you know?”

Sammy smiled softly beneath his mask and pushed it up slightly with his thumb. “Because I have faith in you.” With reverence one would show a covenant, the prophet placed a chaste kiss to Henry’s hairline. The fear of a massive overstep loomed like Damocles sword, but this needed doing. Henry needed to know the depth of his devotion and gratitude, even if the man was not a god or demon. Pulling his mask down to cover himself completely, the musician waited.

Henry sniffed before drying his face on his shirtsleeve. “Glad one of us does.” He rubbed his legs to get a bit of feeling back into them. The man paused, then reached upward for Sammy’s mask. He knew he’d glimpsed something else underneath, but Sammy’s hand promptly stopped him. A cool, firm grip to his wrist. “You never let me see your face.”

“There is no face.”

“I’ve seen it before.”

“Don’t. _Please_.” Sammy murmured in warning. His mask was his face, no matter how many loops there would be. “Try to rest.” He let Henry’s hand drop.

“I don’t know. The Angel doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Sounds like a she problem, not a we problem.” Sammy stood and scanned the room with a hand to his chin. He pointed to the massive Boris plush that lay against a chute. “That should work.”

Henry stood and stretched. “The giant Boris.”

“It looks comfortable. Soft, warm, better than sitting slumped against a wooden wall, don’t you think? I wouldn’t trust those broken couches at any rate.” Sammy waved him over but didn’t slow. “Come along.”

Henry huffed a laugh. “Alright. But I’m not closing my eyes until Buddy comes back.”

Sammy’s head swiveled. “That could be some time.”

“I’ll live.” Henry sat between the legs of the plush and threw an arm over one leg. “You don’t sleep much, do you?”

“I have no need.”

Brows knit above hazel eyes. “Don’t you get tired?”

“A prophet's work is never done.”

“But Sammy’s work can wait for a bit-”

The ink man turned to a sudden noise, pulling free the axe at his hip. Buddy raised both hands in surrender, ears pulled back. He stood in the threshold of the toy department.

Sammy replaced his weapon. “Oh, you’re back so soon.” He’d hoped just a touch to have more alone time with Henry.

Buddy stepped into the room from the stairs, rucksack full of soup. He offered a can to Sammy, only to receive a head shake in return. The wolf shrugged and tossed it to Henry, who caught it with ease and popped the top open.

It tasted like clay and pork fat, but it had kept him going.

Buddy offered another one, but Henry declined. “You can have it.”

The wolf shrugged and tucked it into his rucksack. He’d had two on the way back!

Sammy strode towards Henry and crouched. “Little sheep, it’s time for sleep. Your wolf isn’t wandering astray now.”

Henry chuckled and leaned back. “You’re pretty eager to get me into bed.”

The musician scoffed, thankful he didn’t have the ability to blush.

Buddy covered his muzzle and let out a silent laugh. Goodness, these two!

Henry scooted back into the soft belly of the plush toy. “Try not to stare.”

“Oh, how could I? I have to be sure nothing attacks your dreaming form.” Sammy asked softly.

The cartoonist thumped a hand to the leg of the toy. “Take a breather.”

“No.”

Henry smiled gently. “Sammy. An hour won’t kill you.”

Sammy stood, swaying on his feet in thought. “But an hour without me to guard you might kill _you_.”

The human leaned forward. “I always come back. You know that by now.”

Sammy tapped finger to thumb in a pattern close to a waltz. “It doesn’t make it hurt any less.” A tap on his shoulder tugged him to the matter at hand.

Buddy held open his hands with an expectant look.

“You? The most timid little wolf I’ve ever met?”

Buddy nodded and made grabbing motions, eyes determined.

“... oh, fine.” He passed his axe to the Boris clone, who nodded in thanks and wandered away. “So long as you two are happy.”

Buddy would make sure that nothing would creep in. He’d done this more times than he could count. He could handle watching out for enemies for an hour! He’d hate every terrifying second, but Henry _needed_ a break! Besides, being a plaything for the twisted angel made him a teeny bit braver. What could these clones do that could top what she’d done?

Outnumbered, Sammy tilted back his head and spread his arms at the ceiling. “Oh, the things I do for this man,” he said with a dramatic sigh.

The cartoonist chuckled, head resting against the plush. “You’re stalling.”

“Perhaps.” The ink man shook his head faintly, but he sat. He did so as far from Henry as physically possible while still being in sight.

The cartoonist chuckled again.

“Just what is so funny, little sheep?”

“If you sat any farther away, you’d be in the elevator.”

He waved Henry off. “Oh, hush up and sleep.”

“How? It’s lonely all the way over here.”

The musician raised himself onto his hands and inched himself closer. He said nothing, but made clear his annoyance at the entire ordeal of having to move over about two feet. He fixed Henry with a look… which was lost under the Bendy mask. “Better?” He asked in a feather-light tone.

“Yup.” Henry folded his hands over his stomach and shut his eyes.

Just like that. How funny. Perhaps Henry had been far more tired than Sammy had thought. The man had a constant look of exhaustion, but the musician had assumed that was due to age… and Henry had aged, from the memories Sammy gained. Not wanting to wake the man -if he were even asleep at all!- Sammy rested his hands in his own lap. He kept his gaze scanning the room.

Buddy made a circuit around the toy room, ears sharply perked to any sudden noise. A good wolf, guarding his flock despite how scared the poor thing seemed to get.

Sammy tensed at the feeling of weight to his shoulder. He glanced down at the man who’d decided while dreaming that his inky form was a dandy pillow. The prophet glanced at the man's sleeping face, drinking in details he couldn’t fully observe when he was awake. Warm olive and freckle-peppered skin. Auburn hair, crazily tousled up top and gray rising from the temples. Thick but short beard. Thin brows and a narrow curved nose, a down-turned mouth with faint cupids bow…

No. Stop that. _Bad Prophet._ _That is not allowed_.

Sammy frowned at that old, ingrained repetition that he’d feel now and again. _That is not allowed_ , but why not? He wasn’t allowed to look at Henry like that? He… wasn’t allowed to feel lighter when the man smiled his way? He wasn’t allowed to express his gratitude with a common gesture?

No. _He was not allowed to_ _feel_ _th_ _e_ _se things._

_But why not?_

He searched for an answer by examining the artist beside him. The folded, tanned hands resting against his stomach. They rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and something caught the light. A simple band around Henry’s left ring… finger…

... ah. _That_ was why.

The ink man frowned hard and took in a breath. Well, shame on him for not seeing _that_ sooner. A quiet sigh, and the ink man rested his cheek on top of Henry’s head. He could return the favor of being a pillow, and he _had_ promised not to stare. Sammy could safely say _this_ didn’t feel wrong, allowed or not.

He fell from the waking world and into a memory.

_"Nerves, Miss Pendle?” Sammy asked as he fiddled once again with the microphone hanging from the ceiling.  
_

“ _Oh, not at all.” Her smile could light the darkest room. “Just lines today?”  
_

“ _For now.” Sammy blew out a fiery breath and looked back at her with a caustic smile. “I’ll be lucky to have the score back by Monday.”  
_

_Allison’s smile turned knowing yet stayed friendly. “I’ve heard Mister Drew is a tough boss.”  
_

“ _Amen to that. What else have you heard?”  
_

“ _That you, mister Lawrence, are the devil himself when you’re angry.” She planted a hand to her jutting hip and shook her head. “But I’m not seeing it.”  
_

_Sammy frowned, brows furrowed. “Have you ever seen me angry?”  
_

“ _Not yet.”  
_

“ _Give it time.” He adjusted his ponytail with a tug over his shoulder. He desperately needed a haircut. Movement caught his eye from entry of the orchestral room. Susie was making her way to the booth, her smile bright as ever.  
_

_Why was she here? She’d been let go last week._

_Their eyes met through the glass and her smile tightened before she opened the door to the recording booth. “Morning, Sammy.” But the strain of her grin faltered as it landed on Allison like a target. “Who’s this?”  
_

_Sammy blinked at Susie’s confusion. She had to be joking. “Susie, this is Allison Pendle.” He narrowed his eyes her way. “She’s been cast as the voice of Alice Angel.”  
_

_The raven shook her head, smile spreading and taught. “No, that’s silly, Sammy. I’m Alice Angel. We’re doing lines today, remember?”  
_

_Sammy shot Allison a look and strode to the door. “Miss Pendle, stay here.” Not looking at either of the two women, he waved Susie outside of the room. “Out here, please.” He quickly pulled the door shut. “Susie, what’s going on?”  
_

_Her smile fell, and a glare pinched her cute features. “You tell me, Sammy. I’m here for my line work and the first thing outta your mouth is she’s replaced me.” Her eyes welled up, but her slowly growing smile said she didn’t quite believe it. “There’s gotta be a mistake.”  
_

“ _I thought Joey’d had a talk with you.” Foolish of him to assume that grinning bastard would go above sending a memo. “The memo went out last week.”  
_

“ _But… n-nobody told me.” Susie’s mascara was running in black trails down her cheeks. “I got replaced and nobody told me!”  
_

… _that son of a bitch. “You didn’t get the memo?”  
_

“ _No! How could you let this happen?”  
_

_His brows twitched in frustration. “That was Joey’s decision!”  
_

“ _But you’re the music director!”  
_

“ _And?”  
_

“ _You could have said something!”  
_

“ _I don’t like it any more than you do, Susie-”  
_

“ _Then why didn’t you do something?”  
_

“ _Do what? It’s over and done with!” Sammy exhaled sharply from his nose, eyes shut. How to word it. How to say it. He raised his hands, discomfort blooming in his chest. “Susie, we had a good run but I’m about as in control of this place as-”  
_

_Her petite hand cracked hard across his cheek. Sammy saw no stars, but sure as hell felt his teeth bite into his cheek. God, what a blow!  
_

“ _This is your fault!” Such a pretty voice shouldn’t to screech like that. “Selfish bastard! You were supposed to help me!” Susie pulled back again to land another blow.  
_

_To hell with calm. Sammy grabbed her swinging hand in a crushing grip before hoisting her to him with a growl. “Maybe I’d be more willing to help you if you didn’t sleep with the boss behind my back, Miss Campbell.” He gave a grin sharp and cold enough to shame a steel blade. “By the look on your face, you didn’t think I’d know. Word gets around faster than you do, dear.” Fat lot of good it did for him if she slept with any man that’d take her!  
_

“ _At least Joey doesn’t have to fake it.”  
_

_Showed what she knew. “You’re both faker than a three-dollar bill and twice as worthless.” He gave a hard squeeze until she gasped from the pain. “Get the hell out of my recording studio.”  
_

_Gritting her teeth in a pathetic, perfectly aligned display, Susie stormed_ _out_ _the doorway.  
_

_A creaking from the booth, and Sammy turned, cupping his reddened cheek. He smirked at Allison. “Christ, what a mess.”  
_

_Her dark eyes widened under lifted brows. “Are you okay? Who was that?”  
_

“ _That,” Sammy growled, cold eyes burning at the door. “Was the woman you’re replacing.”  
_

_"Are you hurt, mister Lawrence?”  
_

_He shot her a tight smile. All teeth, no joy, and just a touch of blood. “Oh, I’m fantastic. Sure to be stinging all day.”  
_

“ _We can hold off of recording for a minute if you need a break.”  
_

“ _You’re too kind.” He blinked. “No. Really. Don’t be a sheep. Kindness isn’t safe in this field.”  
_

_But rather than balk or tinge red, Allison snickered at him. “You’re too much, Mister Lawrence. I’m a big girl.” Her smile faded. “But really. Are you okay?”  
_

_No wonder Tom fell for her. “I’ve had worse. Though, the small ones pack the most-”_

“-punch…” He awoke, staring at the ceiling. Buddy looked over from where he stood near the elevator, head snapping up at the sound Sammy made. The ink man waved him off. “I’m fine, Buddy.”

Henry lifted his head from Sammy’s shoulder and groaned. The giant plush toy was an excellent idea; little to no back pain! “Good choice.” He smiled sleepily at the masked man. “The plush, I mean.”

“Ah.” The ink man stretched his arms before him, not needing to do so but having the urge. More humanity come back, he guessed. “I… mm. I remembered something.”

“What is it?”

Sammy’s hands fell into his lap. “The day Susie Campbell learned that Joey revoked her place as Alice Angel.” His gaze fell on Henry, shooting him a weak smile. “Joey had a memo sent out to all staff but her! And he didn’t bother to say it to her face! Of all things to remember.”

Henry rested a hand cautiously on Sammy’s near arm, brows drawn up. “That’s… I want to say I’m surprised.” Joey had been a pot stirrer back in the day. He left Henry out of it, but the cartoonist knew his old pal well enough, at least back in the day. College was a nightmare when Joey sniffed out something good. “But, uh, nothing surprises me anymore.”

“The worst memories hone in on people I’ve hurt.” Sammy sighed and leaned back against the plush. “Seems that’s what I was best at as a man.”

“Not true.” Henry smiled, eyes up at the rafters above. “I remember you being kinda fiery, sure, but you weren’t malicious or anything.”

“Maybe not to you.”

“Maybe not, but…” Henry’s smile widened, and he turned to look Sammy head on. “You never gave _me_ a reason to dislike you. That’s true now, too.”

The ink man huffed. “You like them cruel, my little sheep?”

A shrug. “I figured it was a combo of stress and experience.” A chuckle. “And how downright difficult Joey was to work with.”

Face to mask, Sammy smiled. This, facing each other, sitting side by side… A sharp shooting sense of dread rattled the ink man back to his senses. The echo of a memory… and it did _not_ feel fantastic. _This is not allowed._ “I _earned_ my right to be a lousy bastard, you say?”

Henry chuckled. “You wanna tear yourself down, be my guest. Won’t change how I feel.” Leaning forward to get his feet beneath him, the cartoonist stood with a quick series of pops. “Okay. I’m good to go.” He turned back to Sammy and held out his hand. “You ready?”

Sammy eyed the hand and took it to be pulled to his feet. “Whenever you are, my little sheep.”

\


	18. Dix-huit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven help the fool who falls in love.

**Heaven help the fool** **who** **falls in love** **.**

/

Loop three hundred and five felt… off. In a pleasant way. How something could _be_ off in a pleasant way was hard to pin down, but Henry would not look this gift horse in the mouth. If he and Sammy could have a good loop, he wouldn’t complain about a bad one. Henry pushed the door to the music department open, axe over a shoulder.

Sammy was there to greet him, as almost always. Save for a fluke a few loops back, Sammy was always waiting. If a loop came where Sammy just didn’t show, he didn’t want to think of how lonely it would be.

No clearing the railing for the ink man this loop, it seemed. Sammy smiled in greeting beside the piano. He leaned against it, propped comfortably on one elbow. The banjo was slung across his back already. “My little sheep. There you are.”

Seeing the fragments of humanity leeching their way back into the ink man warmed the hope in his chest. “Where else would I go?”

A shrug. “Bathroom. Maybe.” The ink man leaned away from the piano and sauntered closer. “How are you feeling?”

Henry thought about it, lips drawn. “Eh… about as well as I can feel.”

“So… terrible.”

“More like mediocre.” He smiled. “Alright. Anything from last loop you think might be important?”

“Well… I can safely say that after the first few times, being nailed into a room with you isn’t so bad.” He crossed his arms with a haughty tilt of his head. “Still rude, if you ask me. Seems Allison’s holding up talking to Tom about her memories.”

“Okay. Got it.” The cartoonist shook his head with a soft chuckle. “But we can’t push her too hard on that end. She has to get there on her own, like you did with me and not… y’know… hitting me with a dustpan and tying me to a pole.”

A huff. “Oh, by all means, _never_ let that go.”

“Don’t plan on it.”

“Moving on, little sheep.” He fixed Henry with a stern frown that came closer to a pout. “Would it be wrong of _me_ to fling the soup bowl at _Tom_ this time?” He uncrossed his arms and gesticulated at the man. “I’m tempted. If he’s going to waste soup, I don’t see a reason to play nice!”

Henry snorted and let loose a full laugh. “Jeez, no.” Thank god Sammy had a sense of humor or he might forget how to smile.

“Understood. No fun allowed.” The ink man mumbled with his growing smile. He lifted a finger to present a new point. “Now, I’ve noticed Buddy’s getting braver. Just by a bit, but that has to mean something. I never expected he’d take up the axe, but it’s a welcome change to cowering in a corner.”

The cartoonist gave a nod, still feeling the laughter spreading a warm ache in his cheeks. It faded when he thought of Buddy. “Maybe Susie’s torture attempts aren’t working how she hoped? I’ll ask when we join up.” He pulled the seeing tool from his back pocket. Holding it up to look around, he found no new writing on the walls. “You want to look again?”

Sammy shook his head. “Not particularly.”

Henry shrugged and turned around the room for a final look. He paused, just a bit dizzy, when he caught something on the fall board of the piano. “You sure? You might like this one.”

The ink man drew close and peered over Henry’s shoulder to find small print on the wood that covered the keys.  YOU PLAY BEAUTIFULLY.  He chuckled and waved a hand dismissively. “Oh, stop.”

He chuckled back, and an idea struck him. Henry held up the tool, frowning at the glass that only showed gold where it had always been. “You know, Sammy… I only looked at _you_ through this once. The first time I had it, down in the Lost Harbor. Nothing to see back then, but that might have changed.” He peered at Sammy over his glasses. “Are you okay if I look you over?”

The man preened. “Ah, like what you see?”

“I have a hunch.” And he’d sworn he’d seen something different under the mask. The slight gap that surrounded Sammy’s mouth showed something… different. But one thing at a time. “You can say no.”

“By all means.” Sammy chuckled and spread his arms, palms out. “Have at.”

The cartoonist felt a smile tug his lips as he held up the tool. Like Sammy had with him, he’s started at the feet.

Sammy’s legs and torso were bare of gold ink, but his hands were a different story. A gold, razor thin line ran from the tip of each finger up to his shoulders and met on his chest. A treble clef rested over where his heart was, and dozens of musical notes peppered the lines- _music_ , Henry realized. Of course a musician would be covered in music. “You’ve got them, now.”

Sammy tilted his head and smiled. “Ah. Fantastic.”

“You have those… uh, music lines?”

“Staff lines.” The correction was calm but automatic.

“Right. Going from your fingers and stopping at your chest. You’re covered in music notes.” Henry hummed in thought, brows lowered. “Turn around.”

The ink man did, arms still out. Henry’s hunch was right; the lines traced all the way around to his back, but the overalls were in the way of reading the whole thing. “Uh… you have writing on your back, but I can’t really read it with the overalls strap in the way.”

“Oh dear, whatever will we do?” Sammy spoke coolly, before pulling the straps off his shoulders to fully expose his back. The straps rested in the crease of his elbows, hands splayed open to the ceiling.

Henry couldn’t help but chuckle. “Thank you.” The lines broke apart in the middle, just at the spine, and notes fell from the broken lines. Under the lines lay a few words stacked one on top of the other. YOU WERE THE LIGHTER SIDE, which made little sense. “The staff lines meet back here, too. You have words on your back.”

“Saying what?”

Henry lowered the tool with a quirked brow. “You were the lighter side. Dunno who it’s referring to.”

“It’s yours. All yours.” Sammy looked over a shoulder and shot him a grin. He pulled the straps back over his shoulders. “They’re not wrong, you know. The words, I mean.”

Henry paused. He _had_ seen something in the mask's gap, but Sammy had only had a mouth before. Lifting the tool showed more gold ink that ran from the mouth of the mask. The gold ink crossed out the eyes of the mask out, and the words  GET IT OFF  were written between the eyes.

“Your mask has ‘get it off’ written between the eyes.” The man replaced the tool to his back pocket, lips pursed. “Maybe we could?”

“No.” Sammy turned to him fully. “I’d rather we didn’t.”

“I understand, but Sammy.” The cartoonist shook his head slightly. “I’ve seen it before, you know. A few times, actually.”

A huff that held no humor. “You can’t see what’s not there.”

“ _Sammy_. I have a feeling that something else changed. If I’m right, that means...” He paused to think. “I don’t actually _know_ what it means, but if I’m wrong, I’ll _never_ ask about your mask again.”

Sammy shuffled uncomfortably at the idea of the mask being off. Even though Henry had seen it before, none of those times could he say he was stable. Er, stable enough to know the mask stayed on. “It’s not pretty.”

“I promise I won’t ask again if I’m wrong.”

The word _promise_ didn’t sound so terrible when Henry said it. How could he refuse that calming tone? “I believe you, Henry.” The musician gently grasped the sides of his mask. “But, I must ask you not to scream.”

The theatrics never ceased to fill Henry with a mix of unease and joy. “I promise. Close your eyes -er, try to, and don’t open them until I tell you.”

“Very well.” Sammy took a breath and pushed off the mask. It rested on top of his head easily enough.

Henry waited, gaze on the ink mans face. The darkness of the ink made it hard to tell what was different, but something had definitely shifted. “Okay, open.”

He did and was greeted with the stunned gaze of Henry.

Henry’s shock melted into an almost excited smile. “Sammy, you have eyes.”

He blinked. _He blinked._ “What?”

Henry chuckled in disbelief. “It’s not just that! Get a look.” He knew he had a _mouth_ , but this? This was better than he’d hoped!

Sammy raced to the nearest shiny surface, a glass panel attached to the recording booth. He was met with the same inky skin and bald head, but now, glowing amber eyes peered out from his… face. His _actual_ face! No more pits of black or fused i nk ! Still ink, but every angle and curve was all him. “Henry!” His mouth glowed when he spoke, his tongue and teeth just barely alight like dying embers. Sammy turned back to the man and grinned. “Henry! It’s _me!_ ”

“I know.” Even in hell, Sammy had given him reason to smile.

Sammy clasped his face with inked hands, in awe at what lay beneath his fingertips. “It’s all coming back. I-it’s slow work, but it’s there! Proof we’re on the right path!” Sammy grinned, dark, thin ink welling at the corners of his eyes. “Henry...” The musician reached outwards and hugged the cartoonist with all the gratitude his limbs could give. “Thank you.”

Henry hugged back and gave a gentle smile. “Thank me when we’re out of here.”

Sammy pulled away after a moment, his face bright with a warm smile. He reached out and so gently lay his hand to the side of Henry’s face. The faint flicker of unease Sammy felt was silenced promptly, and the ink had nothing to say in the matter. He traced a thumb against a cheekbone, eyes aglow and smile easing down from elation to grateful.

The man before him lifted his brows in question, but made no move to pull away.

Sammy took the chance. He pressed a timid kiss against Henry’s mouth. Deeply as he wanted this he was prepared to be flung back or shoved away.

Henry, startled for a moment, tilted his head and returned the kiss with an embrace. He had an arm around the ink mans torso, free hand behind his head. He smiled inwardly; took him long enough.

Sammy let out a soft hum and pulled back slightly to rest their foreheads together. “I… probably shouldn’t do that again.”

“Wouldn’t mind if you did.”

“I... can’t.” Because the ink that enveloped him could so easily corrupt the man he clung to.

“Sammy.”

“Henry. Ink madness isn’t your fate.”

The cartoonist blinked. “I feel fine. Good, actually. I don’t think the ink really… does anything to me? I think we’d know by now, but if that’s what you want-”

“It _isn’t_.” Sammy gently grasped Henry’s shoulders and took a step away. “But it is what’s best.”

Henry lowered his arms and laced his fingers behind Sammy’s back. Just to hold him still, not to confine or control. Couldn’t have him panic after that. “Tell me what you want, Sammy.”

“I _can’t_.” The sharpness that Sammy had when he’d been human crept into his voice. His hand slid down to rest over the man's heart. “Henry, my desires and the reality can rarely coincide.” Reaching down but not looking away from those wonderful hazel eyes, Sammy pulled up Henry’s left hand and gently tapped the scuffed wedding ring on it. “ _This_ is why. There’s someone waiting for you out there. That is why I can’t.”

Henry gazed at the ring on his left hand. “My wife and I had a wonderful thirty years together. She… passed away three years ago.” It still ripped him apart some days, but time helped to distance the ache. He would _always_ love Linda, the woman that had given him so much love and two beautiful children. “The ring is a memory, not a barrier.”

Sammy felt caught halfway between crying and laughing. Guilt, relief, shame, they burned the poor ink man from the inside and all he could do was deflate. He stepped back completely from Henry’s grasp and let out a fragile noise. He lay a hand to his mouth until he found words. “I still can’t ask that from you.”

Henry blinked, brows furrowed and lips drawn. “Why not?”

“In this… place. This studio. How can I of all monsters ask to step into a place that Linda once held?”

The cartoonist blinked. “I never told you her name.”

The musician froze. “No… no, you didn’t.” Sammy blinked-

_-at the cartoonist. “Really?”_

_Henry grinned. “Yes! L_ _inda and I’ve_ _been trying for_ _half_ _a year!”_

_The blond froze, but smiled at the man. “Congratulations.”_

“ _Thanks.” His smile faltered a little. “Something wrong?”_

“ _Mm? Oh, no. I’m… tired. As always.” Raking a hand through his blond hair and exhaling sharply, he continued. “You’re lucky Bendy is so cute.”_

“ _Oh?”_

“ _I’m seeing the little guy in my sleep. Hell of a dancer for such short legs.” He leaned his head back and stared up at the ceiling. The dull ache behind his eyes was nothing new, just like late nights were nothing new. “When I get the chance to sleep, that is.”_

_The cartoonist frowned, folding his hands in front of him on the table. “You haven’t been sleeping?”_

_Sammy waved him off, ignoring the feather-light flutter in his chest at the man's concern. “No time, Henry. Besides, you’re one to talk. I see your light still on half the time I’m walking by.”_

_Henry’s right hand tapped against the ring of his left. “Not by choice. I love my job, but I’m lucky if I see Linda even twice a week.”_

_The blond’s brows sank in a scowl. “That’s-”_

“ _Henry! Sammy!” Joey’s voice boomed from halfway across the small cafeteria. He quickly made his way to the two, his smile wide and far too excited. “Good to see that you’re hashing things out, but if we’re gonna meet this deadline, we can’t get caught up on small talk.”_

_The cartoonist peered at his old pal from over his glasses. “Joey. We just sat down. Maybe for a minute.”_

“ _Oh, but you can sit at your desk and get work done. I do it all the time!”_

_Henry frowned, his steadfast patience ebbing away. “Sammy and I were talking about-”_

_The director placed a tight grip onto the younger mans shoulder. “I’m sure it’s important, but time is m-”_

“ _If you’d let the man speak, you wouldn’t be rushing us.” The musician's voice grew colder than the Bronx in mid-December, smiling tightly. “Henry was describing the current cartoon he’s working his tail off to get done, so I’d know what music it’ll need. If you actually paid attention, you’d know that’s how we have done it. Or maybe if you’d hand me a script, I wouldn’t be_ bothering _your lead cartoonist.”_

_If joviality were any more forced, it’_ _d_ _break under the weight of Joey’s_ _blank-eyed stare_ _._ _“_ _Now, Sammy. I don’t like this attitude you’re giving me.”_

_Sammy’s smile turned razor sharp. “_ Maybe _if you could give me a set schedule for what you need and when, I wouldn’t have a shitty attitude, Mister Drew.” Standing, the lanky man tilted his head and got in Joey’s face. “But if you insist, I’ll get back to making your dumb little songs.” He turned on his heel and stormed away, shoulders hunched. Christ Almighty, he couldn’t even have a moment to breathe!_

_T_ _he sound of a scoff and the clap of a hand to a shoulder sounded behind Sammy._ _“At least you don’t give me any problems, do you, Henry?”_

_The blond heard that, but refused to turn back. He could be as petulant as Mister Drew if he had to be._

“-come on. Sammy?”

Henry’s voice pulled the ink man back to reality as Henry, present and concerned, shook him gently. The warmth of his grip on his shoulders were a comfort he felt too attached to.

“I- Oh. I… remembered something.” He drew back, hand to his head.

The man’s eyes widened a tad. “Really? What was it?”

“Joey was being an ass in the cafeteria. A bigger ass than I once thought I knew. Something about us being in the same room made him huffy.” He shot the man a quizzical frown. “Did you ever get to tell him Linda was pregnant?”

“Only on the day I left. I hadn’t seen Linda in weeks.”

The prophet nodded and quickly placed his mask back on. Henry didn’t need to see his face anymore. Maybe a mask was the best option. “Ah. I’m not surprised. If you’re ready, we can start on this loop.” He smiled sadly and picked up a wrench that hung between two nails on the closest wall. “Spare me the pity and take that...” Desperate desire for his feelings to be known? “... _kiss_ as an act of gratitude and nothing more. No need to drag this out, I should think.”

Oh, for goodness’ sake! Was kissing back _not_ clear enough? “Sammy.”

“We can’t delay our work for my foolish heart, little sheep.” The prophet held up a hand and quickly strode to the door, curling his fingers to call Henry onward. He twirled the wrench in his other hand. “Come along.”

“Sammy, I’m not saying no.”

The prophet froze, wrench in mid-twirl, dropping to the floor with a thud. Trying to process what he’d heard, he tapped thumb and forefinger together on his still raised hand. “Ah.” Wait. _Wait_. He pushed up his mask and glanced over his shoulder. “Then you’re saying?”

Henry sighed and stepped behind the man. “I’m saying… I feel the same way.” He smiled sheepishly. “So, we might as well take the next step.” He held out his hand to the ink man, an open invitation to take hold and go forward together.

His heart hammered, but the ink man was still. “I…” Sammy swallowed. “Not that I’m not thrilled, Henry, but…”

“But?”

The ink man’s face -he had a face now!- grew soft and sullen. The fingers of his empty hand tapped out a rhythm, slow and thoughtful. “I’m... not asking too much of you for this? You don’t feel, ah, obligated?”

“No. I promise you that, Sammy.” No one could _replace_ Linda. She had a place in his heart no one else could take… but his heart was big enough to give someone new their own place within it. There was no hole to fill; love wasn’t meant to leave a hole. Hand still held out, Henry smiled and waited. “I’m willing to try. It’s up to you, Sammy.”

Glowing eyes fell on the hand. The same one he’d taken time and again when uncertain or startled. Offered out of love. Sammy Lawrence drew in a breath and laced their fingers. “... then let’s try.” The warm hand in his grip was the most fantastic anchor in reality he could ever ask for.

\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at all this fanart!
> 
> https://aofspades.tumblr.com/post/628023797715550208/another-piece-of-fanart-from-backlitrabbit-la  
> https://inkyvendingmachine.tumblr.com/post/635047865017827328/do-you-ever-accidentally-binge-an-entire-fanfic-in


	19. Dix-neuf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roof above, Projectionist below.

**Roof above, Projectionist below.**

/

Why the Bendy mask was an acceptable hat? Who could say? How it stayed on Sammy’s head? Who knew! But the fact his face was _his_ again, that he had little reason to hide when it was just he and Henry? That felt grand.

Almost as grand as holding hands. But when the time came for Buddy to pop in and take them to the safe house? The mask went down, and the hands unclasped. Sammy doubted that Buddy would care about either thing too much. Risking it wasn’t on the agenda for him, anyway. Not for whatever this was.

Buddy smiled and donned his lit hat before heading out for soup. Of the things to change with the friendly wolf, that remained.

Henry sat at the table, pulling up the drawing pad that had taken up a place in an open toolbox. The stub of a pen was a little hard to draw with, but he could manage. Besides, now he could finish that drawing of Sammy with a live model! Well… first thing. “You can take the mask off if you want to.”

“What if I don’t want to?” He asked as he adjusted the banjo to sit in his lap and took a seat.

Henry shrugged. “Then this drawing will be pretty off model.”

Inked fingers drummed the neck of the banjo, letting out a muted couple notes. “Who am I to halt the artistic process?” Sammy pushed the mask up, so it sat perched on his scalp. It was probably the worst hat he’d ever worn in his entire life.

Henry looked over and gave a lopsided grin. “Perfect.”

“Shall I strike a pose?”

“The one you’re in is great.”

A smirk, and Sammy casually plucked out the banjo portion of _The Lighter Side of Hell._ He hit a sour note, and his lip twitched. “Mm.” A turn of a tuner later, he was back on track. “It’s… silly.”

Henry peered over his glasses at Sammy. The stub stopped.

“This song, I mean. I wrote it a long time ago. Hid it so no one could see.” The G chord floated beautifully. “The tune came to me one night after you’d checked in on me before heading home. Don’t know what did it, but…” He plucked the third string idly, blinked, wasn’t sure where that thought was leading. “Well, it ended up in as the finishing number for the movie.”

The cartoonist narrowed his eyes and set his pad down. “You remember the movie?”

“I only, ah, remember…” He drew in a breath, and set the banjo to the side. “Remember… we had been, ah…” His left eye twitched. “Hold on. This-this one feels like a doozy.” Sammy stood shakily from his chair and pressed himself to the far wall. An echo, a warning, like when he felt unsure in the toy room. “Dammit.”

“This one?” Henry stood.

“G-got up, didn’t want to fall or break anything, I’m…” Something low and cold bloomed behind his breastbone. “Henry… I think-” He inhaled as a ripping stab of pain traveled up his spine to his skull. Long legs buckled, mouth agape and trying to get air into his lungs. It still amazed him they were there. “It’s bad. It’s big, I-”

The man kneeled before the ink man and nodded. “It’s okay. Just keep breathing. We’ll handle this like the others.”

He’d have given anything to have those words comfort him, but he’d felt this memory before. Down in the toy room a loop prior when he looked Henry head on and felt like he-

_-wanted a smoke and some peace of mind. The studio got hotter than hell_ _any time of year_ _. Sunsets on the roof were a sight to behold, and today was a cloudless day. Early autumn, crisp leaves where trees dared to grow, a golden sky overhead, Henry taking a seat on a ventilation pipe-  
  
_

_Hold on.  
  
_

_“Ah, Henry.”  
  
_

_The man turned with wide eyes, then_ _relaxed upon seeing him_ _. “Sammy. Did you finally get free of those rewrites?”  
  
_

 _Sammy pulled_ _loose_ _a cigarett_ _e and_ _flicked his lighter in a well-practiced motion. Taking a drag and letting out a cloud to rival a thunderhead, he smirked. “Dropped off the score for_ _Sheep Songs_ _and headed up here. If_ _Joey_ _has an issue, he can hunt me down himself. Heaven knows that’s how it goes.” He strode on long legs to perch himself beside the man and offered his lit smoke.  
  
_

_Henry waved him off. “No thanks. Never picked up the habit.”  
  
_

_Taking another long drag, Sammy smiled_ _sharply_ _at Henry. “Just up here for fresh air, then?”  
  
_

 _“A break. I’m looking at another long night of getting the next cartoon started.” He shook his head, but still smiled. “Tombstone Picnic is looking pretty… heavy. On the animation end, I mean. Joey can cool it for a minute so I can_ _get my head together_ _. I’m just hoping he doesn’t_ _come up here. We’d both be d_ _og_ _meat_ _.”  
  
“Oh?” Sammy raised a brow. Henry had such a _ _pleasant_ _smile.  
  
"… don’t get me wrong, Joey’s been my friend since college, but he’s… He's getting on my nerves right now. He went for writing _ _and story boarding_ _. I went for animation. Paired up for a project and stuck like glue. Now, he’s just breathing down my neck.”  
  
“ _ _Amen to that. Neck breathing’s his favorite thing to do other than rewrites.”_ _Sammy shook his head. “Trust me, Henry. No one comes up here.” The blond smirked, flicking the cigarette off the side of the building. It spun and left spirals of smoke all the way to the gravel below.  
  
“You’re up here,” he said in a weak protest.  
  
Sammy smirked. “ _ _I’m a special case.”_ _Ice blue met soft hazel. “_ _Besides, w_ _ho would I tell?”  
  
Sitting together, shoulder to shoulder, just enjoying the sunset, _ _Sammy felt at peace. Unusual, high-strung as he was_ _. The blond quietly observed Henry from the corner of his eye. Auburn hair disheveled in a way that said hard-worker, not slob. The start of a well-groomed beard, a spray of freckles over olive skin, silver glasses that framed the kindest hazel eyes- Sammy realized he was staring dead on and Henry was looking back.  
  
_ _Sammy_ _closed the gap, and their lips met. It felt like a dream. It felt like floating on air. It felt like a set of firm hands pressing to his shoulders to push him away.  
  
Sammy leaned back, the only taste against his lips that of the spent cigarette.  
  
Henry… wasn’t angry. Sammy found no disgust _ _or_ _rage on the younger mans face. It was worse. It was confusion. It was pity. “Sammy, that’s- that’s not- I’m married.”  
  
The blond swallowed and rose to his feet. “Ah.” He didn’t want to think of the ring on the man’s left hand. A simple gold band that he should have spotted months ago but somehow overlooked because he was a goddamned fool.  
  
The cartoonist raised his right hand to still him. “I’m flattered, I think, but… don’t do that again, okay?”  
  
“Forget I did anything, Henry. Please.” He shot him a pained grin. “For my sake.” _ _Let them both forget this happened. Let him go back to hiding and being an ass._ _  
  
Henry’s smile faltered. “Who would I tell? I like you, Sammy. As a friend. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt because of something like this.”  
  
He barked a laugh, forced enough that his lungs ached. “Something like this.” _ _Something he couldn’t change no matter what he tried to_ _rewrite himself_ _._ _As if someone as wonderful as Henry could look at him in any way other than a friend. Idiot._ _  
  
The cartoonist nodded and peered over his glasses. “Yes. I_ _think I_ _gave you the wrong idea. You shouldn’t be punished because I didn’t-”  
  
Sammy snapped. “Punished!” At Henry’s frozen expression, he continued. He could feel himself reddening. “You’re worried about me when I forced myself on you!”  
  
“I never mentioned my wife. _ _Most people don’t look for rings, anyway._ _I didn’t realize you had..._ _feelings_ _like that.” He said the last sentence quietly and pushed up his glasses. “If you’re uncomfortable around me, I get it, but- Sammy, I’m not upset.”  
  
Sammy tilted his head back and let out a groan to the skies above. “Uncomfortable. I force myself on you and you worry about my comfort.” _

“ _You stopped when I pushed you off._ _Worse_ _guys_ _might-”_

“ _Don’t defend me. I know what I did. What dolt can’t notice a wedding ring?”_ _The blond leveled the younger man with a searing stare and a humorless smile. “You can’t keep offering yourself as a sacrificial lamb, Henry. One day, someone might take up the offer.”  
  
He frowned, brows lowered. "… __like_ you _did a minute ago?”  
  
The musician gaped. God in heaven, if words were blades that would have eviscerated him. “I-”  
  
“Sammy. I don’t need __protecting_ _. I’m young, I get that, but I’m not naïve. I won’t tell anyone what happened up here because no one needs to know. It’s between us. You got confused,_ _misunderstood what was happening,_ _and it won’t happen again.” Hazel eyes hardened, not from malice but assurance. “Right?”  
  
… maybe confused was the safest option. Tension threatened to wreck the blond where he stood. “Right. Absolutely. Fantastic.” Cracking his neck to th_ _e_ _side, he scowled at the setting sun. Gold rays flickered against skyscraper windows like so many gold coins. “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in weeks. That explains it.” It explained it better than ‘I’ve always liked men’. Something he knew was_ _not allowed_ _. Something he tried often to kill by lavishing compliments on women like he was meant to do. Like all men were meant to. Last he checked, he was a man!_ _Didn’t help matters that Henry was so…_ _forgiving._ _  
  
Henry chuckled_ _and went right along with the subject change_ _. “You sleep? I thought you ran on coffee and shouting.”  
  
The blond laughed, like he hadn’t put them both in danger a minute prior. __He’d gl_ _a_ _dly take the subject change._ _“Don’t forget nicotine.”  
  
The sun caught Henry’s glasses, sending a shooting gold spark off the silver frames. “You ever think of switching to cigars? Might give more of a punch.”  
  
“Ask the untouched Cubans under my piano bench,” he mumbled around his second cigarette. “_ _And no, I’m not sharing.”_  
  
 _Henry, wonderfully forgiving and calm Henry, laughed. He had such an open smile, such a calm voice. He was someone that Sammy shouldn’t think of in such a way. “Sammy-”_

“-I’m right here. _Sammy_.”

The musician hadn’t realized he was shouting until Henry shook him by the shoulders. Snapping his focus onto the concerned face of his ally, Sammy stared and slowly shut his mouth. He cupped the side of Henry’s face and stroked a cheekbone with the thumb of his trembling hand. “Why did you leave?”

Henry lay a calloused hand over the one on his cheek to still it and press it close. “You’ve… been shouting that for a minute. _Sammy._ I’m right here.”

Lord, the worry in those gentle eyes. Sammy thought he’d fallen hard already, but that look pulled the rug. He squinted. “No. Before. When you left the studio.” His mouth twisted in agony that didn’t fit. He could remember the day Henry left. It was only a little painful, but left him with a sense of powerlessness. “What made you leave?” The ink man cleared his throat to collect himself and tried to elaborate. “I remembered the roof.”

“The roof.”

Sammy pulled away and pressed to the wall behind him, eyes aglow and face to the ceiling. “I _kissed_ you. Up there, under an autumnal sun.” He heard Henry shift but kept staring above. “You weren’t even _angry_ . N ot even a month later, you were gone. From the studio, from our work, from my life.” His vision blurred from inky tears and he grit his teeth to control himself even a bit. Sammy went limp against the wall , brow pinched in anguish. “Am _I_ why you left?”

Silence, save Henry having moved closer. Grunting on the way over, he had a seat beside Sammy.

“No.” Henry sat shoulder to shoulder with the ink man and pulled off his glasses. The cracked lens and bent nose piece was so much like this situation; damaged but functional. “ _You_ didn’t impact my decision. That was all Joey.”

Sammy blinked hard to clear his vision.

The cartoonist examined his glasses, frowning in thought. “We were business partners. Joey was a man of ideas and _only_ ideas. But Bendy, Boris, Alice? They were _mine_ . I’d been drawing Bendy since I can remember. He’s older than the studio’s beginnings, but…” Releasing a sigh that could fill the room, he continued. “I didn’t matter to the grand scheme. I only _made_ the little devil darlin’, knew how he ticked and how he worked. Worked on the show’s bible, for goodness’ sake! Same for Boris, and I had only been starting on Alice when I learned the truth. Payment, but no credit. No recognition.” He laughed bitterly. “Joey whipped out my contract. I hadn’t read the fine print that turned everything I created over to him.”

“You skipped the fine print?” Sammy asked quietly.

“I didn’t think my best friend would screw me over like he had.” Carefully cleaning the fractured lens of his glasses, he grimaced. “ _He_ paid me royalties, but that wasn’t enough to keep my wife and newborn daughter comfortable. I ended up drafted, became a medic, and now I’m back here…” He placed the glasses firmly over his eyes. “Back to where it began.”

“That explains why nothing here gets under your skin.”

Henry shrugged and combed a hand through his faded auburn hair. “Trust me, Sammy. Joey’s why I left, not you.”

Amber eyes glowed in the dark. “Then… why come back?”

“Mm. Joey tried to make amends. Sent me an original still from the movie, framed and everything.” He smirked, brows lowered. “So, I signed it with my name and mailed it back. It’s not worth a dime, now.”

The ink man laughed softly at that. “If that didn’t send the message, who knows what would.”

“Not enough of one. A decade after that, he sent me the letter about this place. Said he had something he wanted to show me.”

Sammy blinked. “Why bother?”

“Well… I made them. Bendy as this mischievous little imp, not that… thing that wants me dead. I made Boris as a lovable jerk with an enormous appetite, and the Alice I made would _never_ do those things to someone, I-” He didn’t realize he’d raised his voice until the echo came back to him. He took a deep breath. “I don’t make _monsters_.”

“I know.” He reached for Henry’s hand and found zero hesitation in holding it. Amazing, to have someone that wanted to touch him when he was something so far removed from human. “I… wonder, and forgive me if this is an overstep.”

“Yes?”

Brows furrowed, and feeling a tremor in his gut, Sammy asked, “Did Joey ever… try anything with you?”

Henry’s face wrinkled in genuine shock. “What?”

Sammy frowned hard, amber eyes aglow. “I only ask because- I mean, after you left he became, ah… aggressive.”

“... that son of a bitch.” For the first time in so many loops, Henry was angry. “Not on me, no.” Ruffling a hand in his hair, he gave a pained smile. “How bad?”

Sammy blinked. “He knew what I was, and he hated it. He made sure I knew he hated it, too, but… not enough to get me to quit, I suppose. He’d have outed me if I did… and by then I’d already gone half crazy from the ink.”

Henry sighed and let his head fall against Sammy’s shoulder. “He hated that about _himself_ , so he took it out on you.”

Sammy lay his head against Henry’s. Guess he was alright with ink stains. “Not an excuse.” Or a surprise.

“Nope. He... wasn’t exactly thrilled when I turned him down in college, either.” Knowing that he’d been spared Joey’s cruel pursuits just made him feel worse. Who else had Joey gone after without him there to keep him in check? Would him being here have mattered after a certain point?

“Well, Mister Drew gets worse the more I remember.” Sammy drew a deep breath and let it go until everything in him was gone but a question. “What of you, my little sheep? You were a married man.”

Henry chuckled. “I _definitely_ like women. I always have.” He then gave the hand in his a soft squeeze. “But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t liked a few men the same way.”

“Mm. I thought I’d just been that special.”

“You still are.”

“If you say so, little sheep.” Sammy sniffed hard and let out a cool huff. “Joey… implied he knew about the roof.”

“I know.”

“You… do?”

Henry sighed, eyes shut. “Joey got wind of it somehow and threatened to call Linda. She’d never have believed him. And I knew that.” He smiled ruefully. “I don’t think he expected me to quit.”

“I want to be shocked.”

“Mm. Work me half to death then threaten my growing family? I hit my limit.” But honestly, the limit was spitting distance by then.

“Ha. You’re too good for your own good, little sheep.”

Henry couldn’t disagree. “You think you can get up?”

“No. Do you want to get up?”

Henry smirked. “My back is gonna hate me, but, no.”

“Well then, we’ll just wait for Buddy to come back.” He grinned. “But… this loop, I’m thinking I should try to get a word in with Norman.”

“You sure?”

He nodded against Henry’s hair. “He’s slowed down when chasing me. I think… maybe he’s trying _not_ to startle me. I’m not sure, little sheep, but it’s worth a try.”

Henry squeezed the hand in his, running his thumb along the back of it. “Don’t get splattered.”

“No promises.”

\

Sammy hated being down here. Hated the eventual shriek of the elevator going down, being away from Henry and Buddy, the knee-deep ink that dragged him down… the entire thing could kick rocks. But kicking rocks could wait. He had an idea to prove.

He’d taken off for old light head soon after Susie had the elevator doors shut on him. Henry would stall for time as long as he could before the elevator plunged down into the depths with him and Buddy.

Never let it be said that Sammy was finding this task easy. There were booths to hide in, and ways to get out and to Bendy-Land… and if he wanted to, he could still travel just using the ink portals! But the portals were iffy, and he didn’t want to risk forgetting something and finding Henry tied up again.

No. Just keep walking. Shake it off. Get through this one thing-

The Projectionist fixed Sammy with his light, far down a corridor. The ticking of film reels slowed.

The ink man squinted at the brightness of the hot amber aimed his way. Sammy didn’t budge, save for saying the creature’s name out loud. “Norman Polk.” He adjusted his grip on the axe. “It’s Sammy Lawrence, I-”

A burble of low static, and he lumbered his way.

The ink man stood his ground, fighting the urge in his legs to bolt for safety. If this worked, then they were a step closer to the door. If it didn’t? Another try next loop. There weren’t other options anymore. He squinted in the light's harshness and prepared the axe for if it all went to hell.

The creature let loose a shriek and lunged, landing with a solid splash that knocked the ink man backwards onto his ass.

“Norman, wait!” Sammy held the axe up in one hand and held his other to stay the amalgam. “I-I know I hurt you in the past! I can’t remember it, but I know I did!” He tried to still his hand and heart as they both shook from blooming fear. “Polk, please. I’m sorry I didn’t-”

The Projectionist paused and tilted his machinery the same way he did when he looked at the booth outside Bendy-Land. With a groan of his speakers, he bent his knees to be on Sammy’s level. He lifted a fist but did not strike Sammy with it. Instead, he pointed with a rubbery, jet black finger. He pinched his fingers together and flicked that hand twice as if shaking water from his hand…

… or tapping a conductor's baton to gather the attention of a small orchestra.

It clicked. “Polk.” Sammy grinned beneath his mask and pushed it upwards to expose his face. “ _Norman_ . You _are_ in there.”

The Projectionist -Norman. His name was still the same.- gave a great nod and grasped Sammy by the suspenders to lift him out of the ink. Not graceful but done with care!

“And you… know who I am?” Even when they were both so far removed from human in this place?

Norman lay a hand on top of Sammy’s head in a familiar gesture that had meant to pester.

“Yes, Polk. Some things never change.” Polk had been taller than most as a man, but in this form he towered! His smile fell, and he fixed the light before him with squinted eyes. “Can you hear me?”

The Projectionist shook his projector no and pointed Sammy’s way before making a duck's bill with that hand. He flapped it like a mocking mouth.

“You… you read my lips.” Sammy sighed and nodded. “Thank god I got those back.” He blinked and rubbed his neck uncertainly. “Norman, I need your help. We need to get to the lowest elevator level.”

A tilt of the machine on his shoulders.

How to phrase it… his left hand tapped out a tango as his thoughts gathered. “My friends are down there, and if we don’t hurry, S- _Alice_ will get there first. She wants to hurt them, and I can’t protect them on my own. Will you help me?”

He received a nod and a pat to the head.

He’d tolerate it if it meant they were going the right direction. “Fantastic. Do you know a way?”

Norman nodded, and Sammy felt something slim and rubbery wrap around the straps of his overalls. He looked down to find a strip of inky cabling that lead back to the Projectionist’s back.

He pouted. “A leash. Really?”

Norman didn’t reply, save for heading to the left at a steady clip. Sammy had no choice but to follow and hope they got there in time.

/


	20. Vingt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Movie night in hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read the notes at the bottom.

**Movie night** **in hell** **.** **  
**

\

Henry could only assume that Sammy’s encounter with the Projectionist had ended in a splattering. Buddy could shake and pat him all he wanted, but this whole loop went down as badly as the others. “B... Buddy…” Henry ground out, vision darkening and flickering. He didn’t hear the humming yet, but he knew, soon, she would rip Buddy back into hell. “Run.”

But that sweet, stubborn wolf stayed, gave a shake of his head, kept trying to wake Henry further up.

“Please… Buddy…” Some swaying, darkened figure hummed in the corridor. Its shadowy form sashayed coolly closer.

From further down, clear as the blasting of a war trumpet, Sammy Lawrence cried out, “Susie!”

Her melted half drew back from her teeth, and Susie turned, claws out for the intruder coming her way. The intact half of her face sneered at Sammy. “Oh, didn’t learn the first time?”

Sammy hefted the axe and grit his teeth.

The twisted angel’s good eye widened a fraction, flicking about to take in the face he hadn’t hidden under the mask. “Ha.” Like he was a threat against her in this place, where she ruled with near perfection. “Teeth and eyes do not a real man make, false prophet...” she trailed off and her good eye flicked to the light behind Sammy.

The Projectionist lumbered into view, his light burning bright as it fell across her. His speakers let out a rattling growl.

“And you brought our beloved shut-in to help. Aw, Sammy…” Her face pinched in a snarl as she ran at him full tilt. “You’re such a _coward_.”

Sammy turned the axe in his grip and swung for the angel. He hooked her embedded halo and knock her off balance, but she turned on him with a screech. She missed the strap of his overalls completely and barely grazed his upper arm.

The ink man grimaced and swung again, the blade halting in Susie’s wiry grasp, her good eye blazing with wildcat rage.

She didn’t have time to say anything as a set of oily, black cables ensnared her limbs and ripped her backwards. The Projectionist dragged her back towards him, light blazing and fixed on her malformed face.

“Don’t you dare!” she screamed and slapped the side of the projector. “I saved you from that wretched ink!”

Norman grasped the arm she’d swung, growling static.

“You goddamned idiot!” Her sharp claws grasped for his neck as her voice climbed in pitch. “I was the one who gave you life after what he-”

_Crack._

With one blow, the Projectionist struck Susie the same way she had him… but rather than startle her into silence, he’d instead snapped her neck. A thing already made fragile from the slit throat she permanently bore. He tilted his projector to the side a little, light dimming as he took in her slackened, ripped face.

A deep hum, and he set her on the floor carefully.

“Holy shit,” the ink man breathed from his crouched place beside Henry. Sammy rested his fingertips to Henry’s face, cautious but needing to touch. “Henry.”

“It that bad?” he muttered from the floor.

“No, no. You’re fine. You’re… I was right about Norman. He seems to… remember enough about prior loops. He knows my face, at least.”

Henry blinked groggily. Never let it be said he was _used_ _to_ concussions. “M’kay. So… Norman’s safe?”

Sammy smiled and nodded. “Yes. He’s safe.”

That helped. “... okay. Norman?”

But he didn’t turn, still casting his light about the hall.

“He’s deaf. But he can read lips.” The ink man gave a half-smile.

Henry blinked slowly and reached to his left for something. It felt like a chunk of wood. He gave it a gentle toss, and it bounced and rolled until it stopped against Norman’s left foot.

The Projectionist turned and fixed Henry with his light. It wasn’t the blinding amber flame from the depths, but calmer and better fitting for the lit corridor.

“Hey, Norman. Thank you for coming.”

The projector tilted curiously.

“I don’t know how this works, but if you helped, then you must remember something.” He turned to look over at Buddy, now cowering in the corner. He didn’t cover his eyes anymore, but he was hunched and shaking like crazy where he was.

Norman gave a nod and turned fluidly to look over at Buddy.

Buddy, ears pinned back and eyes wide upon being spotted, gave a timid wave.

The speaker on Norman’s chest hissed with brown noise, and his inner reels clicked. It almost sounded like words, but not enough to decipher anything.

Buddy waved again at Norman, smiling as his ears came up. Norman hissed static again and lumbered forward. He stood for a moment, observing the wolf, then he lay a massive hand to Buddy’s head.

The wolf flinched, then gave a nervous smile.

Sammy smirked and gave Henry a sideways glance. “He did the same to me.”

“Guess I’m next.”

The Projectionist let Buddy be and headed their way. He reached down for Henry, but didn’t wait for the man to grasp his hand. Instead, he wadded up most of Henry’s shirt and hoisted him like a rag doll from the floor with a rapid series of clicks. His light grew bright, studying the squinting, weathered face that filled the field of his light.

“Norman.” Sammy’s voice fell to a low, calm lilt, reaching for the axe at his hip. “Easy.” He only then remembered that the amalgam couldn’t hear him. The axe stayed in reach, however.

But Henry, feet dangling, stared into the glowing eye of the machine. “Norman Polk.”

Norman gave a nod, slow and creaking.

Henry grunted. “Do you remember me?”

The Projectionist didn’t move.

“My name is Henry Stein. I was here when this place first started. I was lead animator.” The cartoonist reached out and lay a hand on a nearby shoulder. “I knew you. You were the leading Projectionist for this studio.” He smiled tightly, shoulders begging for a break. “You’d invite me up into the booth to get a look at how my work looked on screen.” And to watch Sammy work from somewhere he couldn’t see.

The clicking slowed, and Norman let Henry’s weight pull down on his arm. The cables of his back tittered and rippled. The speaker on his chest crackled. “Hhhhhn…” But that’s all he managed.

“Yeah. I’m Henry.”

The Projectionist grumbled and set him on his feet before lumbering away down the hall.

Buddy loped over to the cartoonist and gave a look of concern.

Henry rubbed his neck, the flesh stinging from the tightness his shirt collar gave. “I’m good.” His gaze flicked to Sammy, who was staring after Norman with a snarl curling his lips. “Sammy. I’m okay.”

“Dammit.” He didn’t take his eyes off the amalgam that slunk over to the corpse of the angel. He turned away when he took her by an arm and leg, dragging her out of sight. “I… I thought he was all there. I shouldn’t have. He almost-”

Henry rested a hand to Sammy’s arm. “Hey. He remembers who we are and some of who he is. That’s a start.” But the man frowned, brows crooked in puzzlement. “... is he coming back?”

“I... don’t know.” Sammy raised a hand to his mouth and called out, “Norman?” before remembering that he was deaf. Again. What a thing to get used to.

Buddy blinked and scampered down the hall after Norman, ears perked.

“Buddy, wait!”

But the wolf was out of sight in seconds.

“Jeez.” Henry ran a hand through his hair. “Teenagers.”

“Youth is wasted on the young,” Sammy muttered with a nod.

The friendly wolf peeked around the corner, brow furrowed their way. He waved them over with a gloved hand and vanished once more.

Sharing a look, the two followed Buddy down the hall.

The wolf stood next to an opened door, ears sagging and wringing his gloved hands before him. He looked up at the duo and gestured to the doorway with a jerk of his head.

Norman hadn’t just dragged Susie away from view, he’d found a room off the main hall that held an old cot, along with a plethora of random junk. He’d laid Susie on the cot so her face was showing her good side, the melted half face down. Her hair had been smoothed out and her dress adjusted. She didn’t look dead, just resting.

It was worse, somehow.

Henry sighed softly and looked back to Sammy. “Well… I didn’t want _this_.”

A nod. “Agreed.”

Norman turned from the prone angel and headed out of the room, closing the door behind him. He headed slowly down the hall to the far end, not stopping save for a wire reaching back for someone behind him.

The wire chose Buddy, who looked more curious than scared.

Sammy and Henry had no choice but to follow.

The Projectionist stopped, finally, at another empty room, his projector turning to look down the hall at Sammy and Henry. He pointed to the wall before him with his free hand, then turned to the blank wall completely.

Sammy spoke up first, brows furrowed. “I’m… not sure I understand.”

“A blank wall isn’t the worst thing we could be seeing.”

Buddy, a curled hand to his muzzle, stared up at Norman. He blinked before he too looked at the wall. He dropped his hand and turned to Henry, eyes wide as he realized what was going on. Taking the wire in one hand and walking to the wall, he reached up on tiptoe and pulled a projector screen down from the ceiling. The wolf smiled and gave a thumbs up to Norman and received a nod in return and the wire retracting from his waist.

Henry’s brows lifted. “Oh.” He stepped behind Norman. “You want to show us something?”

Sammy hummed uncertainly but stood near Henry.

The Projectionist hummed something from his speakers, then his light changed.

Susie -the _real_ Susie, not the melted angel on the bed- smiled up at the camera.

The ink man gasped silently at the screen. “It’s… it’s memories?”

No one replied, focused on the screen.

_Her grin grew. “I got a date tomorrow night, Norm.”_

“ _That so, Miss?”_

_She giggled, cheeks darkening with her smile. “You know you can call me Susie, silly.”_

_Norman’s hand came into view as he waved her off. “Jus’ polite is all. So, who’s the lucky fella?”_

_She gave him a look, grin mischievous before she pointed with her little finger to someone on the right._

_The camera turned to focus on a tall, rail thin blond. He was scowling at a set of sheet music as a plump, older man with a nice hat gesticulated at the paper._

“ _Jack’s a lil’ old for ya, ain’t he?”_

_Susie covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Jeez, Norm.”_

“ _Naw. There’s no way you got Sammy Lawrence to take you out. The man works as late as Mister Drew._ _A peculiar fella for sure._ _”_ _A set of arms crossed in the lower periphery of the camera’s sight. “Ya could have any man here and ya go for_ _him_ _?”_

_She grinned and rested her chin in her palm to look down from the projectors booth. “ He took a week to decide, but we’re doing it.”_

_The camera shook slightly as Norman chuckled. “Y’all have fun.”_

“ _Thanks.”_

Henry frowned at the projection as it wound down, frozen on Susie’s beaming face. “So… you remember being friends with Susie?”

The Projectionist growled some static, and the screen lit up again. This time, the camera was pointed at a smirking Sammy Lawrence, papers in his hand.

“ _What’s the old record? Five?”_

_Sammy’s smile grew tight. “Yes. We have hit seven. Seven rewrites for a single goddamn tune.”_

_Norman looked around the room, then back at Sammy. “Gotta be a pain in the ass.”_

_The blond grit his teeth._ _“_ _You have no idea._ _God forbid I suggest using something twice. Motif’s can go beyond_ _reusing_ _the opening number, but what do I know? I only write the damn music!” Sammy’s_ _free_ _hand shot up, fingers extended and wriggling with tension. “Has to be fresh! Has to be new! The man knows as much about music as I do about_ _installing a toilet_ _.”_

_Norman chuckled. “Never seen you this worked up.”_

“ _This is nothing. I’m told I change color when I scream!” Sammy stood and cracked his neck. “Since everyone’s off on lunch break, I’m heading to my office for some actual work.”_

“ _Work got you worked up so you gotta do more work?”_

_The blond stormed out of the room but called out. “I find refuge in music, Norman. Not even another rewrite can take that away.”_

“ _Have fun!” Norman shook his head, the view on screen moving with it. “Crazy.”_

Beside Henry, Sammy tensed, his breathing slow and steady but controlled enough to show he wasn’t alright.

_The view changed again. The camera angle showed a rectangular window, looking out at the building’s roof. Sitting on a ventilation pipe was Henry, and standing nearby was Sammy, Sammy flicked a cigarette butt off the side of the building, then smiled Henry’s way._

_The view cut to the dark stairwell as Norman made his way down the stairs and back to the Music Department. He didn’t make it up to the booth before Joey emerged from the stairs and fixed him with a grin._

“ _Norman, just the man I was looking for!” Joey blocked the path to the_ _second step with his body, left arm to the wall. “Say, you haven’t seen Henry or Sammy around, have you? I gotta talk with both of them pronto!”_

_Norman shrugged, and it made the view tilt. “Up on the roof havin’ a smoke last I saw ‘em.”_

_Joey frowned, lips pursed. He pointed with the hand on the wall. “_ _Together_ _?”_

“ _Yup.”_

_The director’s left eye twitched, but his smile split from under his mustache. “Thank you, Norman!” He clapped a hand to the man's shoulder and scooted around him. “Lemme just get out of your way.”_

Sammy covered his mouth, amber eyes bright in the dark.

Henry sighed angrily and glowered at the fake smile of Joey Drew on the screen. He’d been bluffing his way through an answer the whole goddamn time he’d tried driving he and Sammy apart. “... Sammy?”

The ink man nodded, pulling his hand from his mouth. “I…” He swallowed and closed his eyes. A rising ache in his chest that grew the longer he watched what Norman showed him. This one was about the man with the projector for a head, and it felt worse than the one he’d had about the roof. “I-I feel something. Bad. I need to-”

Henry nodded. “Okay. Do you want me with you or-”

“Alone. Please.”

“Okay.”

“Booth.” He turned and jogged out of the room. He didn’t know why he needed to hide in the booth, but he knew he needed to hide. The booth in the corner came into view and he quickly pulled the door open and shut just as he-

_-stood frozen before the pit before him. Down in the studio's guts, where the ink bubbled up and swished like a languid lake. Sammy could watch it all day. All night. SO far away from the noises of the people in this hellhole. Far from all the noise all the talking the shoes scuffing on floorboards the ink going drip drip  
_

_**Sammy. dear delightful Sammy.  
** _

_The blond’s breathing hitched at the vast gentleness in those gargled words.  
_

_**our talented man. our musician.**  
_

_His black arms wrapped around his middle as he felt something in his heart break. So much was already given over to the ink. He craved to give it more. To prove his love that it gave him so freely. So much love… for him, of all creatures…_

_  
**that man… that Joey… he called us up from our home. put us in pipes and puddles, Sammy. he puts you in pipes and puddles too.** **w** **e have seen it.** _

_  
Sammy let out a soft sob in the dark.  
_

_**we hate it. why please that man? why please any man?**  
_

_**why… when you can please a God?**  
_

_The man bent forward and vomited, ink black and slimy slithered free.  
_

_**he wants you  
** _

_**HORNS. SMILE. AMEN.  
** _

_**he loves you like we love you  
** _

_**Sammy  
** _

_**Sammy**  
_

“ _Sammy?”  
_

_He turned, slow and pained at looking away from that perfect pool. The metallic tang in his mouth grew with his exhale. Behind him, Norman held out a flashlight. His blue eyes welled with ink at the stinging brightness.  
_

_The man’s brow furrowed. “Hey bud… you okay?” He took a step, just one. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You…” The older man’s face grew etched with concern. “Jesus, Sammy. Did ya fall in?” His gray eyes swept over him, unable to ever understand.  
_

_The searing rage was instant and uncontrollable. “You will not take him from me!”  
_

“ _Calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you-”_

_  
Sammy rasped as ink ran from his eyes. It was growing hard to see, but he knew the ink would help him._

_Keep him happy. Keep him safe. Set him free of Joey’s claws. “Stay away!”  
_

_Norman held both hands up, concern turning to fear. “Sam-”  
_

_He screamed and lunged, swinging with slicked, black hands.  
_

“ _Whoa!” Norman stumbled backwards but got back his footing. He circled around, facing the blond and shuffling his feet. “Easy. Easy now. I just wanna help. What’d you do?”  
_

_The inked man heaved a ragged, gargling breath. “You took him from me.” He lifted the axe at his hip and bared his teeth, slicked with blood and ink. “You… made him leave. I know it!”  
_

“ _I don’t know watcha mean, Sammy!”  
_

“ _I don’t care! I have nothing!” He swung the blade in an arch through the air.  
_

“ _Put it down, man! I don’t wanna hurt you!”  
_

_They went in a circle, Norman with his hands raised and eyes darting for a way out of this.  
_

_No way out. No one gets out. Sammy couldn’t have anyone take the one thing that loved him away from him!  
_

_**Sammy. give him to us. we will keep him. we want him.**  
_

_The blond screamed, and the ink that consumed him curled into his mouth and covered his eyes completely.  
_

“ _Jesus!”  
_

_The ink man swung, the blade splitting Norman’s throat wide open.  
_

_The projectionist inhaled, a hand reaching for the gaping, screeching hole in his throat… but his legs buckled and down he went, falling painfully slow into the ocean of ink behind him._

_The ink man stared without eyes, his grimace spreading into a slow, blackened grin._

_**good boy.** _

_Tasting blood and ink, praised by the black pools below, Sammy threw back his head and-_

-screamed bloody murder. Dear god, what the hell had he done? Sharp breaths through clenched teeth and eyes streaming thinned ink, Sammy let out a wounded cry and slammed himself against the back of the booth. “Fuck!” He killed Norman for nothing! The man never did anything to him but he’d- Oh god! He’d been reduced to pure rage and the desperate need to be loved. Even if it were some monster or some demon.

“Sammy?”

“No!” He recoiled from that sweet, calm voice. He didn’t deserve comfort after what he’d remembered. “D-don’t look at me!” He covered his eyes and dug as hard as he could into his scalp. “God, just leave me alone!” Just let him rot there in the booth like he deserved.

Henry drew back, his heart sinking. He turned to the wolf not far behind him. “Buddy.”

The wolf perked, but his face was still bunched with worry.

“Uh… keep an eye on Norman. Can you do that?”

The wolf nodded sharply and loped off to the amalgam waiting in the room.

The cartoonist sighed, jaw set. There’d never been a reaction like this. “Sammy.” Henry leaned against the booth’s side and pulled off his glasses. “I’m… I’m gonna wait out here for you, okay?”

A low moan followed by a strangled sob.

Henry winced, then glanced at his glasses before pulling free a section of his shirt. “I’m here.” He cleaned a lens, frowning at the growing crack in the left one. “Not going anywhere. Promise.”

Several minutes passed, and a soft voice wafted from the booth. “... Henry?”

“Yes?”

“I… I need your help.”

“What do you need?”

A wet exhale. “I just… I need- I need you in here with me. C-can we do that?”

Brows furrowed, Henry approached the doors to the booth. “We can. The way we do when the demon is close?”

“Please.”

“Okay.” He turned around with his back to the door. “Whenever you’re re-”

He didn’t get to finish as cool, black arms wrapped around his stomach and pulled him into the booth. The arms shook as hard as the chilly torso against his back.

“Henry.” He clung, cold and shivering like he’d been caught in a downpour.

The cartoonist lay a hand over one laced over his stomach. “I’m here.”

Sammy’s breath hitched, and his head fell forward to rest against Henry’s right shoulder. His tear-choked voice was barely above a whimper. “I killed Norman.” A soft whine. “I sliced his throat. I-I’m why he screams like that when Bendy rips his head off. It-”

“Shh. It’s okay.”

Sammy jerked with a sob. “It’s _not_.”

The cartoonist swallowed. “Yeah. I know.” He reached backward to rest his hand to the back of Sammy’s head. “But we’re fixing it, and… and I’m not leaving you. Okay?”

_Henry was not the Ink Demon. Henry would not harm him._ Sammy broke completely and sagged against the man he held in his arms, tears soaking the mosstone fabric of Henry’s shirt in moments.

Henry swallowed the painful lump in his throat, eyes shut as he did his best to soothe the wounded man. “I’m right here, Sammy.” Henry kept his right hand rubbing gently against the back of Sammy’s head and neck. “It’s gonna be okay.”

But he didn’t know who he was trying to assure anymore.

/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! So due to some personal reasons, I'm taking a quick break from the fic. It's only for a week, but I have some good things for you to see!
> 
> This is fan art from wonderful Damiensaidno: https://damiensaidno.tumblr.com/post/621769397179203584/i-read-evilblackbunny-batim-fanfic-and
> 
> AND we have a gift from the lovely Thren! 
> 
> Thank you all for reading. I'll be back before you know it.


	21. Vingt et un

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shedding light on a tragic memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings – self harm [flashback]

\

Sammy eventually exhausted himself. He didn’t think he’d had that much  remorse in him anymore.  He lay still, grip around Henry slack but not ready to let go. 

Henry’s arm and back had cramped a while ago, but he didn’t pay it much mind. Some part of him was complaining most of the time, anyway. His hand lay against the back of Sammy’s neck. Gently, he drummed his fingers to the cool nape. “You okay?”

“Mm.” The ink man slowly let go his hold of Henry and leaned back to stare up at the booth roof. “I suppose.”

The cartoonist rolled his shoulders and stretched his back, before leaning back against Sammy again. “You sure?”

The ink man  let his arms l ay l imply around the man's middle. “I… don’t know.”

“We can probably stay longer if you-”

“No. We should get going.” He let Henry go and moved forward, silently begging to be let out of the booth to  have this horrible lapse in composure fade away.

The man hummed lowly, but pushed the door open and stepped stiffly out.

Sammy didn’t look Henry’s way, focused on the floor.  “ I ask too much from you.”

A frown. “You’re  dealing with a lot , Sammy.”

Amber eyes flicked to Henry. “As are you.”

“ Eh.” He shrugged. “I’ve… never  really been a crier? Takes  a  lot to get me to that point.”  And he considered the Studio loops to be quite a lot. Henry offered a friendly smile Sammy’s way.  “I think you remembering something  awful and breaking over it is…  understandable ?”

Sammy huffed and frowned, looking away. “Tell that to your ruined shirt.”

Henry blinked at the stain covering his shoulder and back.  Okay, that was…  big . “Well… we’ll just say a burst pipe did it.”

“Burst pipe is my new nickname, then?” He asked in a clipped tone.

“Mm.” Henry shrugged. “Well, you _kinda_ soaked me. The fact you even feel bad means you’re not so bad. Bad people don’t care if someone gets hurt.”

“The bar cannot be that low, little sheep.”

Henry shot him a look. “How is _that_ low?”

“Low enough I could step over it.”

“Then step over it and fix this with me, I guess?”

Sammy blinked, lips parted. He closed his mouth and nodded sternly. “I can do that. I can try.”

“Let’s get back.” He held his hand out for Sammy to take.

The ink man’s mouth twitch ed . “I… need  a moment .” He didn’t want to break down again because Henry was such a kind soul.  He couldn’t afford to turn Henry into a soft place to land if he fell down every step forward.

Henry nodded. “Join us when you’re ready, Sammy.” He turned and left the ink man to himself. There was only so much he could do for him, anyway.

Seemed that Buddy and Norman had found something to do. Ticktacktoe, a game of hangman that was clearly abandoned halfway through, a few rounds of pigs-in-a-pen… and the middle of a game of rock-paper-scissors.

“Having fun?”

Buddy turned and nodded. He quickly grabbed a sheet of paper and wrote something for Henry to read.

WE WERE PLAYING TO SEE WHO WOULD CHECK ON YOU AND SAMMY BUT WEVE BEEN TIED SINCE THE FIRST GAME

The cartoonist chuckled. “What about hangman?”

Buddy took a new sheet and wrote again.

YOU DONT WANT TO KNOW

“Fair enough.” He turned to Norman, who still had his left hand held out in rock form. “Hey, uh-” Right. Deaf. Okay. Henry waved a hand where he thought the amalgam could see, and waited.

Norman turned his head slowly and tilted it down in recognition. Unfolding his legs to stand, the amalgam groaned from his speaker.

“We’re back. Well, I am. Sammy… needs a minute.”

The Projectionist ticked slowly, and a curious grumble emerged from his chest.

Henry ran a hand through his hair and let out a breath. “He remembered something that upset him. Badly. We need to leave him alone for a bit, okay?”

But the Projectionist shook his projector slightly in a no and pointed behind Henry.

The cartoonist turned to find Sammy in the doorway, grim as anything but not as broken as before. “Sammy, you sure you’re ready to come back in?”

“Yes.” He adjusted the mask on his head and stood in arm's reach of Henry. _Don’t be greedy. Let him come to you. Let him lead. Don’t be greedy._ “I’m alright.”

Norman groaned and grabbed Henry’s nearest arm.

Oh boy.  “Norm?”

The amalgam turned Henry back to the screen and pointed with his free hand, before his light cast a new scene upon it.

_ Norman  _ _ was _ _ looking at a far younger Henry. Hair still an utter mess, but  _ _ less _ _ in  _ _ the beard. He was shooting Norman a curious look. “So, you get to see the band from up here?” _

“ _Yup. Best seat in the house.” Norman looked down to his wrist and exposed his watch. “Bout time he showed up, anyway.”_

_ J ust then, the door to the music department opened, and in walked Sammy. His expression was stern, straight-backed as he strode to the conducting podium. “ I’m three coffees deep and can’t play nice today.” _

_ Jack, sitting at the piano, smirked his way. “You playing  nice means hell fr o ze over.” _

_ The blond pointed without looking over. “ Sass me again and I’ll send you there to find out.” _

“ _ I’ll bring ya a snowball, Sam.” _

_ The blond pursed his lips at the sheet music in hand. “First thing, everyon e’s sheet music is here.” He held up  the pack and made a circle around the room. “Found this in my inbox, no warning, no note. So Mister Drew approved the score after three rewrites.” Hands empty, the man took to the podium and cracked his neck. Free hand fanned and other with the baton, he conducted. _

_They barely got thirty seconds in, before Sammy locked up and waved his free hand at the group._

“ _Stop! Stop.” The_ _ slender _ _ man shut his eyes and pointed at the woodwinds. “There’s no bassoon in this piece. Who had the bassoon?” _

“ _I did,”_ _ s aid a woman in the back.  _

_ A slim hand pointed the conductor's baton her way.  “Why were you playing?” _

“ _You gave me sheet music.”_

_ The wand was set down with a sharp slap.  “Did I?” He strode forward  and held a hand out to her. He held the sheet music  and let out an irate hum  upon reading it . “Seems that Mister Drew has added back in the bassoon, despite my advice. I’ll have this sorted in a few minutes, everyone.” He headed for the door, glowering on his way there. _

_Henry spoke up. “He’s at lunch.”_

_Sammy jumped slightly and turned to look up at Henry. His sharp features relaxed at seeing him, then a frown dragged his mouth into a snarl. “What?”_

_Henry shrugged. “Investors meeting.”_

_ The blond splayed his arms and shrugged to the rafters. “Fantastic!” He dropped his arms and turned back to the band. “Seeing that I have to rework this single goddamn piece again, for, mind you, the fifth time? Everyone take your lunch early. Miss  _ _ Carmine _ _!” _

_ The bassoonist _ _ blinked. “Mister Lawrence?” _

“ _Head home.”_

“ _You sure?”_

“ _Unless you can play a different instrument?”_

“ _Piano.”_

_Jack spoke up. “Margie, right? You can take the piano for this set once Sammy and I get the sheet music sorted. Gotta make sure the lyrics didn’t get screwed up along with selection.”_

_Sammy nodded, glaring down at the papers in his hand. “Sounds fine. Everyone out.”_

_There was a set of collective groans and pushing of chairs, but the group filed out. The music room was empty, save for four._

_Norman’s view panned from Sammy back to Henry, who was leaning on folded arms to look down at Sammy with a_ _n_ _amused_ _smile._

_The blond looked up at Henry and gave a crooked frown. “So, Henry. Enjoy the show?”_

“ _Not much of a show, but I liked what I saw.”_

_A dramatic huff. “Trust me, I aim to please.” He glared at Norman. “But next time, let me know you’re coming?”_

“ _Why?_ You _never knock.”_

_An offended noise and an open mouth that quickly shut. “Touche. Jack? You can grab lunch and come back if you like.”_

“ _If I let you be, you’d down another thermos of coffee.”_

“ _Not wrong.” The blond looked back to Henry and smirked. “You. Go to lunch.”_

“ _You never eat._ You _go to lunch.”_

“ _God. Fine. You’re both worse than my mother. Jack? Let’s do this in the lunch room since the art director is directing for once.”_

“ _Amen to that.” The music duo headed out._

_The projectionist shook his head, the view shifting with it. “Dunno how he keeps friends. I’m one of ‘em, and I say that.”_

_The cartoonist chuckled. “So am I, and I’m on thin ice.”_

“ _Not a bad guy, jus’…” A pause, and a chuckle. “Temperamental. Y’know what I mean?”_

_ Henry blinked, brows lowered. “ _ _ Yeah.”  _ _ He _ _ smirked and straightened up. “And he  _ _ shouts a lot _ _ , too.  _ _ Still, good guy to have around. _ _ ” _

_ N _ _ orman let out a laugh. _

The reel ended, and Norman let Henry go.

The cartoonist took a breath and looked at Sammy over his shoulder. “You still okay?”

Sammy’s gold gaze danced about the floor. “I… Norman.” He huffed before taking a step to the turning amalgam. “You say we were friends?”

A nod.

“Well… the reason I was upset  was …” He swallowed to quell the ache in his throat.  “I remembered  _ killing _ you.”

Norman tilted his projector down, not at Sammy but at the ground. He lifted it slowly and grasped Sammy’s closest arm. With his free hand, he pointed back at the screen.

Henry stepped forward to be in Norman’s line of sight. “Too much in one day might hurt Sammy. We don’t want that.”

There was a hum from the speakers, and the view clicked on, anyway.

_ T _ _ he youngest version of Sammy Lawrence  _ _ yet _ _ came into view, standing on Normans left. He looked a fine mix of cross and bored. _

_ “ _ _ You know  _ _ anything about projectors, mister Lawrence?” _ _   
  
“Only that you shouldn’t touch the bulb bare handed.”  
  
Norman nodded,  _ _ and the view went with it _ _ . “Know why that is?”  
  
Sammy shook his head.  
  
The older man held up a white-gloved hand. “Oil from your fingertips gets on the bulb, the bulb gets so hot the oil boils. Bulb shatters, and then I get sent up here to disassemble and clean a projector.” He screwed the new bulb into its socket and hefted the projector onto his left shoulder.  
  
“I’m impressed. I’d think you’d need a manual for that thing.”  
  
He shrugged his free shoulder. “No need. Been fixing these for decades.”  
  
“I didn’t think someone like you could do such a complex task.”  
  
Norman’ _ _ s tone changed _ _ . “Someone like me.”  
  
Sammy raised his hands in defense. “I only meant-”  
  
“I know what you meant, Lawrence. Don’t change the fact if you don’t learn you don’t eat. If you’re gonna fiddle with my machines, you’re gonna learn how to treat the projectors right. You breaking the biggest part of my main job ain’t gonna fly if Grant has to budget out for more parts every other week.”  
  
Sammy huffed,  _ _ then managed a smirk _ _ . “Right. Fantastic. What else do you do here?”  
  
Norman’s brow smoothed. “Projectors, some electric. Gotta wear more than one hat with mister Drew as your boss.”  
  
“I’m fine being a music director and composer.”  
  
“Give it time, he’ll give you more to do.” Norman set the projector back down with a thud. “ _ _ You wanna learn, Mister Lawrence?” _

_The blond blinked, frown relaxing. “Can’t hurt.”_

_“_ _Good. First thing,_ _make sure they’re strapped down. These’ll take your foot off i_ _f_ _it lands on it.”_

_“_ _Not surprising. At least the piano has wheels.”_

_“_ _Don’t trust a projector trolly not to tip if ya push it wrong.”_

_“_ _Speaking from experience?”_

_“_ _You’ll never know. Second, once you got it set up,_ _check the speed settings.”_

_“_ _You can change the speed of a reel?”_

_The man chuckled. “You really are fresh on this kinda thing.” A dark hand urged Sammy closer. “C’mon, get a look.”_

The scene changed with a click.

_Sammy was scowling at Wally Franks, arms crossed. The view was from up in the projectors booth. “This is the fourth time today, Franks.”_

_The younger man smirked and shrugged. “Not my fault, I’m a busy guy! I go plenty of places and clean plenty o’ things!”_

_The blond grimaced. “Fourth time today and none of those times was your key ring in here.”_

“ _You never know, Sammy, I sure get around!”_

_The taller man sneered. “I’m sure you do, now get around to leaving me the hell alone!”_

“ _Sure thing, Jammy Sammy!” He grinned cheekily and booked it._

_Norman leaned over the railing and cleared his throat a minute after Wally left._

_Sammy turned and frowned at the man. “Insufferable.”_

“ _Yeah, but you gotta admit that he’s got his own brand o’ clever.”_

_The blond squinted. “How is that loud mouth clever? Did he find a new way to scrub a toilet?”_

“ _Naw.” The projectionist chuckled, and his left hand came into view, pointing at something. “But he kept ya yellin’ long enough to swipe ya coffee mug.”_

“ _He what?” The shock faded to a snarl as he spotted the empty top of the standing piano. “That little-”_

“ _Oop! Hang on now, that’s not all! Check the wastebasket by the piano.”_

_Sammy’s expression remained annoyed, but his face turned darker across his cheeks and nose. He turned stiffly to the bin and froze, arm dangling down. With a growl, he lifted the key ring from the bottom of the waste bin. “Norman. Excuse me while I throttle a certain janitor.”_

_The projectionist let out a laugh. “Don’t call me for bail money!”_

“ _No corpse, no crime!” and he stalked out of the room, keys in hand. “You’re next after him!” Norman barked out a laugh when the door shut._

“... you… ” Sammy cleared his throat and blinked at Norman. “You  put up with me , even  though I was an ass.”

A nod.

“...but why bother to show me? I-” He held his hands to his chest, half curled and stiff. “Norman, I _killed_ you! You should despise me!”

Another nod.

“... I wish you could speak. I don’t understand.”

The projector tilted to the side, and the amalgam waved to Sammy to get his attention. He pointed to Sammy, then himself, and pressed his hands together to be flat. He the pointed at himself once more, then his lens, then Sammy, then… made a circling motion with that same finger against the side of his projector.

Norman’s light lit up again, and he gestured to the screen.

_The screen showed Sammy, older and exhausted as ever. The view was from a supply closet, not the projection booth. The blond sipped coffee from his mug, and a dark stain stuck to his upper lip. His tongue slid out to clean it off, only to show the flesh to be a far darker color than it should have been._

The screen flickered, and the scene switched.

_The thin man’s face pinched in a snarl that made the bags under his eyes seem all the darker. “For god’s sake, shut up back there! I can’t think straight with you clucking on like that!” His teeth were defined by the darkened spaces that encased his even darker mouth. “This one piece alone is due by morning and the next person to hold us up is getting canned!”_

Again, a change.

_The bags under Sammy’s eyes were bruise-dark and mottled with hairline black veins. Strings of greasy hair hung free of the generally well-groomed ponytail. Snarl lines marred his roman nose and curled his lip with disdain that didn’t match the situation. “Move it.”_

“ _Not til you tell me or Jack what’s up. Ya ain’t been right since the pipes got you.”_

_He gave no razor sharp smile, only bared teeth. A shaking hand with a chewed off nail aimed dead at the camera. “Neither of you deserves to know. My life, my issue. Now move your ass, Polk.”_

_The camera swept to the left, and the blond stormed by._

Another scene change, and the view was from a fire escape, looking down upon a hunched, smoking Sammy.

_A paltry collection of butts littered the ground. The man paced and muttered, teeth clenched and shirt a rumpled mess that hung loose on his frame. The man paused, swaying in exhausting, taking a drag of maybe his fifth smoke. It burned to the butt to singe his fingers, but he didn’t flinch. He blinked drowsily at the ember… then pressed it to the exposed flesh of his left arm to join the half dozen already there. Not even a blink._

Again, the scene shifted.

_Sammy was only heard, not seen. Beyond the walls of the empty music department, he could hear Sammy screaming. The noise was muffled, the pain wasn’t. A heavy, shaking thud as something was thrown. Something caught between a sob and a shout. A hard slam and a string of curses… and Norman backed out of the room and shut off the lights._

Beside Sammy, the Projectionist lifted his hand and held up a single finger.

_Norman traveled down in an elevator, past a few floors and deeper into the dark. A flashlight lit what came ahead as it halted with a thud. Winding down dark hallways and shining the light here and there, the man slowly came upon the ink machine._

_The device lay still, silent and swaying on chains. Before it stood an emaciated figure. Blond hair hung limp and slicked with black, and equally blackened arms hugged a shaking, shirtless form. The form jerked and made wounded sounds but didn’t turn._

“ _Sammy?”  
_

_ He turned, slow and pained at looking away from t _ _ he ink and at Norman with empty eyes. _ _   
_

“ _Hey bud… you okay?” He took a step, just one. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You… Jesus, Sammy. Did ya fall in?”  
_

_ Sammy arched his back and bared his teeth, eyes wide and bright in the dark.  _ _ “You will not take him from me!”  
_

“ _Calm down. I’m not gonna hurt you-”_

_  
Sammy rasped as ink ran from his eyes. “Stay away!”  
_

_Norman held both hands up.“Sam-”  
_

_He screamed and lunged, swinging with slicked, black hands.  
_

“ _Whoa!” Norman stumbled backwards but got back his footing. He circled around, facing the blond and shuffling his feet. “Easy. Easy now. I just wanna help. What’d you do?”  
_

_ The inked man heaved a ragged, gargling breath.  _ _ Ink and blood drooled from his nose and mouth, an eye  _ _ slowly growing covered in black _ _.  _ _ “You took him from me.” He lifted the axe  _ _ at his hip  _ _ and bared his teeth, slicked with blood and ink. “You… made him leave. I know it!”  
_

“ _I don’t know watcha mean, Sammy!”  
_

“ _I don’t care! I have nothing!” He swung the blade in an arch through the air.  
_

“ _Put it down, man! I don’t wanna hurt you!”  
_

_They went in a circle, Norman with his hands raised and Sammy unhinged.  
_

_The blond screamed, and the ink that consumed him curled into his mouth and covered his eyes completely.  
_

“ _Jesus!”  
_

_The ink man swung, and the memory ended before Norman could scream._

The ink man understood. He swallowed and looked fully at Norman. “Norman. I’m sorry. That doesn’t fix what happened, but-”

The Projectionist grabbed both of Sammy’s arms and pulled him tight in for a hug. Had Sammy any bones, they’d be cracking from the force of it.

The ink man let out a strangled noise. “Norm… uh, Norman.” He half returned the hug and patted what parts of his back he could reach. “I can’t breathe, Norman.”

Henry laughed and waved to get Norman’s attention. “Okay, you can let go.”

The amalgam did and stood straight, before  he planted a hand on  a panting Sammy’s head and walking back to Buddy.

Buddy had gotten out of the way with a sheet of paper to doodle on, letting the three older men figure stuff out. When the Projectionist wandered by, he grabbed a loose cable and followed him out. He might as well monitor the guy and give Henry and Sammy space.

Sammy heaved in a breath and scrubbed a watering eye. “Henry.”

“Yes?”

“If Norman tries to hug you, _run_.”

“Noted.”

/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned! :D 
> 
> In my research on ‘proper 30’s-40’s slang’ the two least offensive words to describe a gay man were Temperamental and Daisy. There was no way I could have Norman call Sammy a daisy and make it not stupid.


	22. Vingt-deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Again and again. Around and around.

**Again and again. Around and around.**

\

“Okay. Now the real question.” Henry crossed his arms at the three figures before him. They’d found an open room, closer to the archives but not there yet. “How are we going to handle Bendy-Land?”

“Good question, little sheep.” Sammy was leaning against a wall, arms crossed and mouth quirked in a frown. The mask somehow stuck to the back of his head, as he didn’t much like it as a hat. “Norman gets killed by Bendy. It’s possible we can figure out an alternative way there that prevents that.”

Henry nodded and cracked his neck. “Right. I don’t think Norman can fit in the air vent.” Or handle the cart across the pit. “You’ve found a way there the same way Norman does, but I don’t know how to get to that path myself.”

“I know it, but you wouldn’t be able to take it.” The ink man sighed and smirked. “I’d rather not lose Norman after just having him join our side.”

Henry nodded, shifting uncomfortably. “We might not get a choice.”

Buddy frowned and tilted his head a little, then tugged the cable attached to Norman.

The Projectionist turned his light to him in question. He’d been focused on reading the duo’s lips, but seeing what they had to say brought back some unpleasant memories.

Buddy pointed at Henry and Sammy.

Norman nodded and held up his hands to form a crude Bendy-head shape. He then drew a finger across his own throat and pointed to himself.

Buddy nodded solemnly and mimicked the throat gesture with a raised brow.

Norman tapped his projector, then made a motion with his hands like he was twisting the lid from a jar.

Could Buddy pale, he would have. He gave a quick nod instead.

A nod from the ink man. “My flock knows to avoid Norman. I must let them know he’s not a danger anymore. Although… maybe…” The ink man rested a curled finger to his lips in thought. “I’m unsure, but it’s _possible_ Norman can use the ink portals.”

“The sigils on the walls?” The ones Henry had been told to not touch?

“Yes. Those.” The ink man turned to the Projectionist, brow furrowed. “Norman.”

Buddy tugged the cable around his arm and pointed to Sammy when Norman looked down at him. The Projectionist turned his light to Sammy with a hiss of static.

“Do you use the portals?” The ink man paused, left hand tapping out a tango. “The, uh, wall drawings? Like, ah.” He gave Henry a pained smirk. “Could I borrow your sketchbook for a moment?”

“Sure.” He passed the pad and stub to him. “You can use a page in the back. It’s mostly empty.”

“It was emptier when I gave it to you, little sheep.” It was good to see him drawing again. Meant he could escape this place, even if only a little. But, matter at hand. “Okay, Norman. We need to get to Bendy-Land. Do you have a way there? Or at least a way to the entrance?”

The Projectionist didn’t move.

“Uh… We need you to go there. Henry, Buddy, and I, we’re going there too,” He looked down and drew out the sigil he knew by heart, and turned it to face the amalgam before him. “If you think you can pass through there, we can do that? There’s… there’s not a way for Henry to get there like you and I can, so I have to stay with him and go on foot. I mean… I don’t think you’d really appreciate the way we get there, and I don’t-”

He paused at the sensation of a wide hand on his head. Sammy looked upward, brows raised.

Norman stared him in the face and pointed to himself and then at the sigil on the paper.

“… yes. Use that to get to Bendy-Land.”

Norman gave a great shake of his head. He pulled his hands away, reels ticking slowly.

Sammy glowered, but took a breath. “Why not?”

Norman tapped his projector and shut off his light. It came back on, and he raised a hand that hooked like claws, ready to attack.

Sammy instinctively stepped backwards. “You’d… you _think_ you might forget us and hurt someone.”

A nod.

Henry sighed and stretched his arms overhead, feeling his back pop. “Okay. That’s out.” He waved to Norman and spoke when the amber light hit him. “Do you know a way to Bendy-Land from here?”

He nodded and pointed at Buddy. The cable around the wolf’s wrist tugged slightly. The Projectionist then walked his fingers in the air like legs and pressed his hands together.

The musician blinked, brows furrowed. “Wait… you want to stay with Buddy?”

Henry spoke up. “That makes sense. Buddy and Norman can talk with hand gestures and grumbles.” He didn’t know how they managed it, but then again, he wasn’t sure how he himself could understand Buddy’s gestures half the time.

Buddy’s pie-cut eyes widened with a smile and nod, then he tugged the cable around his wrist. Norman looked his way, and the wolf pointed between him and himself, then flashed a thumbs up.

Norman’s speaker let out what might have been a pleased noise, but who could say?

“Well… if you’re fine with it.” He looked to Sammy with a soft smile. “Let’s go.”

“...fine.” He nodded to Norman and Buddy. “Don’t get lost.”

Buddy gave his best eye-roll, but giggled silently all the same as he and Norman headed out on their path. He turned before heading around a corner and waved to Henry, the last thing he gave being a thumbs up.

Sammy clenched his fists, mouth in a firm line. He let out a low, quiet hum, and turned to Henry, not looking up from the floor. “That could have gone better.”

“Could have gone worse,” said Henry as he stepped beside him.

The ink man gazed at the cartoonist and sighed. “Norman knows the portals can scramble your mind if you use them wrong.” He handed the pad back to the man. “I didn’t think he’d know that… I mean, considering his mental state. I… it _honestly_ slipped my mind they did that. I haven’t used one in so long that I just… I don’t want to say I _forgot_.”

Henry clapped a hand to the ink man’s shoulder. “Hey. He remembered. That’s a positive in my book.” Pulling his hand away, he smiled. “So, we need to get going… but I gotta know.”

“Mm?”

Henry squinted. “How did _you_ get to Bendy-Land the way you did, and why do you think I couldn’t use the same route?”

“Oh, it’s quite mundane. Unimportant.”

“Try me. We have a bit of a walk.”

“Oh, very well.”

The two set off for the Archives, Sammy starting his tale of getting to the abandoned theme park.

/

Buddy despised the dark. As brave as he was slowly becoming, the darkness of Level 14 was always a solid ‘No’ on his things he’d do for Henry list. He didn’t have much choice with the cable around his wrist, however.

Norman didn’t slow an inch as he sloshed through the dark, his light guiding his path forward. This place of deep ink and sticky corridors did nothing to scare him. He liked the dark, enjoyed being able to observe whatever fell into his lap. Usually, it was Henry, and often Sammy, who were chased around the dark, stealing his hearts and invading his privacy.

Still… Buddy was a change of pace. He could almost remember who Buddy had been. If he remembered a handful of things about himself, then his memory of Sammy was a pinch, and his memory of Buddy? A hair. The word ‘gopher’ came to mind for Buddy, but… not the animal. And if gopher was the word but not the one used for animal, what was gopher for Buddy?

Oh well. He hadn’t missed the shaking of the arm his cable wrapped around. Norman Polk had never been afraid of the dark, that much of himself remained before he broke his pattern. Still… couldn’t have the kid too rattled.

Norman’s projector turned to the wolf in question.

Buddy was shaking, but hadn’t slowed down. The ink, rising to his knees, rippled with the shakes of his legs. He sheepishly smiled at Norman and covered his eyes with his free hand. He held the same hand over his eyes as if to shield them from a light above and looked around. Waving his hand in front of his face, his ears drooped.

Oh. Okay.

The Projectionist hummed from his speaker and turned his light to its brightest, casting the world before them in burning sepia.

Buddy patted Norman on the arm in thanks, and the two pressed onward into the dark.

\

Sammy hurled the baseball at the milk bottles, knocking the top one off of the pyramid he’d aimed for. “Then, use the ladder like one would monkey bars-”

“Wait.” Henry lowered his gun, a brow raised. “Monkey bars?”

He huffed at being interrupted, the baseball firmly in his grip. “What’s wrong with monkey bars?”

Henry chuckled. “You know what monkey bars are but can’t remember your age.”

His offense was forced but his smile wasn’t. “That’s not all I remember! I distinctly remember being excellent at hurdles in high school, enjoying the beach, and having a love of chocolate cake. There, three more things.”

Henry grinned over his glasses at him. “Cake and monkey bars. You’re a kid at heart, aren’t you?”

Sammy’s voice dropped to a threatening growl. “Tell no one.” But the threat broke with a grin as he threw the ball and cleared the bottles.

Henry chuckled warmly at the empty threat. He turned back to the shooting game and shot down a marked target. “You’re good with these games, Sammy.”

“Luck, I can assure you.”

Henry gave him a look and set the gun down with a clack. “If you say so. But really, you’d clear out a game booth in three rounds.” The idea of Sammy holding a jumbo stuffed animal made the cartoonist smile wide.

The doors to the depths of the theme park opened.

The ink man tilted his head back and gave a cocky smirk. “You flatter me, my little sheep, but I’ve never had the chance to show off in a _real_ theme park.”

“Wait, really?”

“I’ve seen a few pop-up carnivals. The occasional Fair when I was growing up, but nothing like a true theme park.”

“Not even Coney Island?”

“I’ve never been.”

Henry did a double take, slowly turning away from the doors with the most befuddled frown spreading across his wrinkling face. “You _lived_ _in_ _New York_ _City_ but never went to Coney Island?”

He huffed and waved Henry off. “Little busy writing silly cartoon songs.” He smirked. “Besides, I like my peace and quiet almost as much as Jack. Too many people and too much noise. It’d be fun if I weren’t always…” Himself. “High-strung,” he ended with a soft chuckle.

The cartoonist blinked. “We’ll go when we get out of here. Not right away, but we’ll go.”

He ran an inked hand across Henry’s back, between the shoulder blades. “I’ll hold you to that, my little sheep. Now then, what comes next? I know we did this once before, but that was some loops back.”

“There’s a lever over on the wall to pull, and one in that little alcove.”

Sammy was already over to the four levers. “First pulled first, right?”

“Yup. Wait until I tell you.” Henry pointedly looked away from the mascots and tugged the lever down. “Now!”

Sammy tugged and headed back to the game section. The doors opened wide to reveal Research and Development… and three grumbling Butcher Gang clones ambling and chattering down below.

Henry grabbed an empty soup can, frowning. “Now the hard part. Getting to the two levers down there without those guys biting me to death.”

The ink man’s face sank into a scowl. “They’ve… bitten you.”

“Mhm.”

“To _death_.”

“Uh-huh.”

Sammy let out a disgruntled noise and turned his ire to the clones below. “Well then. Allow me to say hello.” He pulled the axe from his hip and headed for the stairs, only for Henry to grab his nearest arm.

“You have no need. Watch.” With his free hand, Henry pulled back the empty can and hurled it to the ground. The three clones pivoted and jabbered after the rolling thing. The cartoonist shot Sammy a smirk and headed down the steps. “I’ll get the left, you get the right.” Left held the weeping lost one and Lacie’s tape, and Sammy didn’t need to deal with another possible flashback after the one about Norman broke him like it had.

Sammy shook his head with a smile and headed off to complete his task.

Back up the stairs and into the game room, Sammy pulled the lever for the panel and blinked at it slowly. “Strange that there’s more than one switch to a lever.”

“Definitely. Not as strange as fighting Bertrum.”

Sammy looked at him over a shoulder. “That… begs the question of how he got like that.”

“You don’t know?”

“Why would I?”

Henry gave him a crooked frown, brows lowered. “When we first started working together on this, you told me about how clones worked, what searchers and lost ones were… I don’t know, I’d assumed you’d know how Bertrum works.” He shrugged.

“Mm. I’m lost on _him_ , my little-”

From the room where the Butcher clones roamed, the Projectionist let out a screech.

Seems that Buddy and Norman made it… but the screaming didn’t bode well.

“Norman!” Henry called out and headed back into the room, catching himself on the rail. Sammy caught up quickly and had his axe free.

Norman had Fisher in one hand, Piper swinging at his leg only to be kicked out of sight with a splattering on ink. Fisher’s cord with pulled taught until it snapped, the body and head melting down into ink in moments. Striker was missing, save for the other puddle some feet from Norman’s feet.

The Projectionist’s cables writhed testily on his back, then relaxed and retracted as he calmed. He looked upwards at the railings and paused when he spotted the duo on the rails. His light dimmed, and he gave a slow wave.

Henry waved back, brows almost to his hairline. He looked over at Sammy with wide eyes. “Well, that was overkill.”

“Er… yes. But it was effective.” The ink man blinked and turned to something running across the floor below. “Ah. There he is!”

Henry looked up to find Buddy running full tilt their way, rounding the stairs with grin. He didn’t slow down before grabbing Henry in a hug.

“Oof! Hey, Buddy!” The man hugged back. “Glad you’re in one piece, too.”

The wolf let Henry go and nodded, smiling before turning to look at Sammy. His smile widened, and he gave a thumbs up, then he pointed to Norman.

The Projectionist was still watching them, light glowing softly.

Buddy made a circle in front of his forehead with a fist, then opened that fist wide.

“Norman made it easier to see?”

A happy nod.

“Good.” Henry patted the wolf on the arm, then smiled at Norman. “Do you want to stay down there or come up?”

Norman managed an offended sound and stomped his way up the stairs.

“Jeez, just thought I’d offer.” But the cartoonist smiled all the same. “Now the hard part; shutting down Bertrum so that the haunted house works.”

Sammy coughed. “Uh, why do we need to activate the haunted house?”

“The main room is where we meet Allison and Tom? We’ve… done this before?”

“I know _that_ , but Susie was calling the shots. And with Buddy in one piece, we don’t have to play by her rules.”

Henry made a face and shrugged. “You wanna try prying the doors open, be my guest.”

“Gladly. Norman? Follow me.”

“We’re going the same way, Sammy.”

“Hush up.” If he could get the Haunted House doors to open without waking Bertrum, then Henry wouldn’t have to risk himself to shut the behemoth down. Coming back from the dead didn’t lessen the pain it brought him.

Sadly, the doors to the Haunted House could not be forced open. Even with Norman pulling on one side and Buddy helping Sammy on the other, they didn’t budge.

Sammy panted with hands on knees, inked fingers aching from the force he’d used. “Okay. That-didn’t work. You-were-” He gasped and straightened up- “right about that.”

“Time to play with Bertie,” Henry groused as he turned for the hallway. This part was just so time-consuming, even with plenty of time ahead of him!

The ink man caught up with several long strides, axe out and ready, blade-down on one shoulder. “Bertie? You’re on nickname terms with him?”

Henry glanced over at Sammy. “Well, don’t tell him I called him that. He might think I’m Joey and go ballistic.” The cartoonist huffed out a quiet laugh and rested a hand against Sammy’s shoulder with a softer smile.

Sammy’s frown broke to smirk back. “If the angry whirligig isn’t ballistic now, what do you call that?”

“Tantrum. Maybe.”

“Bertrum Tantrum. Angry eggbeater!”

Behind them, keeping some feet back, Norman tilted his projector at the two of them. He watched, only able to read their bodies, reels slowing in thought. Interesting… he then turned to Buddy.

The wolf looked up at the Projectionist and blinked in question.

He pointed at the two of them, then brought his hands together and clasped them. Not the flat palms to signify friendship, but laced fingers over his speaker.

Buddy’s pie-cut eyes widened, then he shrugged with upturned palms. He then held up a gloved finger to pause a moment, and let the hand lay palm down, wobbling it in a simple gesture of ‘Kinda? I’m not sure.’ for the Projectionist.

The Projectionist hummed from his speaker and lumbered over to the doorway Buddy had come from. He grumbled static and tugged Buddy with a cable.

The four of them arrived, Henry ready for what came next. “Everyone, get as far back as you can. Soon as he talks, he’s awake and mad as hell.”

“Now this part, I remember!” Sammy called out as he crept backwards from the desk. Buddy stepped back as well and pulled Norman along with him.

Just as they got out of the direct path of the rider cars, a pompous voice pontificated into the smokey room.

_"The biggest park ever built, a centerfold of attractions. Each one, more grand than the one before it. It makes my eyes come to tears at the thought. But then... oh Mister Drew. For all your talk of dreams, you are the true architect behind so many nightmares. I built this park. It was to be a masterpiece! My masterpiece! And now you think you can just throw me out? Trample me to the dust and forget me? No! This is my park! My glory! You may think I've gone... But I'm still here!"_

The ride’s arms lifted, and music blared. The doors parted to reveal the gasping, overgrown head of Bertrum Piedmont. His mouth worked uselessly and eyes stared blindly as the cars slammed down. Steam erupted from seizing joints and pistons flared to life.

Henry ran for the axe under the desk debris and cried out, “Sammy! Go for the gears when the arms come down!”

“Remembered that part, too!” He cried back, axe free as he lunged for the nearest arm that slammed into the ground. Henry ran and made quick work of the gears on the arm closest to him.

Norman observed from where he’d stooped near a couple crates. That’s all they had to do? He could help with that. Patting Buddy’s head, the Projectionist lumbered to the arm that crashed down nearby.

“Sammy!” Henry called out as the arm he’d been working on lost its last gear and Bertrum hissed steam into the air. “Norm’s helping!”

“He what?” He called back, then looked over at Norman who was punching the daylights out of an arm. “Oh.”

Buddy hid behind a crate, watching over the top with wide eyes. He had no weapon to help with, and his fear kept him locked in place.

The arm Norman had been fighting with came loose and he fell to the floor. Sammy was able to get back from the angry whirligig in time, the arm he’d been after only hanging on with one gear-

Henry let out a yelp as the remaining two limbs slapped at the floor as if trying to crush a bug.

“Henry!” Sammy raced around the perimeter of the ride as Norman screeched at the arm swinging madly in the air. Ink and steam sprayed and hissed as the head inside of Bertrum choked and stared into space.

But when Sammy got to Henry, Henry wasn’t on the ground.

A startled scream from the ride made Sammy look up… and his mouth fell open in shock.

Henry, by some stroke of bad luck, ended up in one of the ride cars. His ass was wedged in the seat and his legs stuck almost straight up.

The ink man gaped at the sight. How the hell did he manage that? “Hold on, we’ll get you down!”

The arms came down again and Norman made a beeline for Henry, ignoring the arms as Sammy hacked the gears apart with grit teeth.

Norman planted a foot on the car Henry was stuck in and used both hands and his cables to pull him loose. Almost as hard as pulling a bad molar, but probably less… sticky.

The moment Henry was loosened and on the floor, the amalgam screeched and attacked the arm with all of his might, snapping the last gear and sending the third arm crashing down.

The ink man was tossed aside as the last arm swung above. Again and again, until it fell to the ground. Sammy let out a yell and shattered the last two gears on one side before he fell onto his back and lay still, gasping for breath at Bertrum Piedmont gasped once more… the doors slipped shut and the dreadful music ended.

Buddy stood from where he’d hidden, ears back as he headed for Henry. Norman had left him to lay somewhat out of arms reach, just staying flat and catching his breath.

The cartoonist stared up at Buddy. “’m good.”

The Projectionist was busy poking at the remains of the ride curiously. What a strange device it had been… but kind of fun, oddly.

Sammy got to his booted feet and ran to where Henry was, amber eyes wide and aglow. “Henry!” He halted and bent to rest his hands on his knees. “Are you hurt?”

“Just… y’know. _Everywhere_. Room’s still spinning and all that.” Henry frowned up at the crouching ink man, heaving a breath and an arm slowly rising into the air. “Sammy.”

The ink man took the hand and tugged to help Henry stand. “Yes?”

“When we go to Coney Island?” He cracked a smile and stared up at the ink man. “We’re _not_ getting on that one.”

“Deal.”

/


	23. Vingt-trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowded, but empty and so loud.

**Crowded, but empty and so loud.**  
  
\  
  
They cleared Bertrum from the to-do list of getting the haunted house started, only for an additional problem to arise. Keeping Norman alive when Bendy inevitably stormed down the hall.

Sammy crossed his arms and gave the way to the Railway a grim look. “I know this part. The switch down below and the one up top, where the Butcher clones usually wander.”

“Yes.” Henry adjusted his glasses. “So. Norman can get the switch down there, you can get the switch in the other room, and Buddy can…” He paused before focusing onto Buddy and Norman.

Norman was making a series of gestures and grumbling static, and Buddy was nodding and giving hand gestures back.

“... Buddy?”

The wolf nodded his way, and the Projectionist looked over.

“Are you okay with waiting by the master switches? Bendy’s never attacked there.”

Buddy frowned but nodded back.

“Thank you. You just have to throw the switch when the light blinks, okay?”

Buddy flashed a thumbs up and patted Norman’s arm on his way out. He could do that easy!

Henry turned to Norman, trying his best to smile. “Norman, there're switches down there. Can you flip them for us?”

A tilt.

“If you don’t want to, I can. You just have to flip them and wait for me to come get you. Once the haunted house opens, we can get going.”

The amalgam hummed static and pointed to himself and mimicked removing a jar lid with his hands.

“... here’s how I see it. Bendy shows up after you flip the switch and come to the booth after me, right?” The cartoonist held his hands palms up. “If you flip the switches and don’t come up right away, maybe he won’t come at all?”

Norman tilted his head at Henry. Even for him, this didn’t make much sense.

“I mean… I could do it and you could wait by the house if you wanted to? I’d have asked Buddy, but Buddy might freeze up in the dark. Sammy could do it-”

“Not happening,” the ink man muttered with folded arms.

“-but if he falls in or gets hunted down by Bendy, he might forget everyone and be back at square one.” But when he thought about it, sending Norman down there was a bad idea. He didn’t want Norman to get his head ripped off after all this progress! “Tell ya what. I’ll go down to get the switches. You can wait for me nearby to make sure we meet up at the haunted house. That better?”

The amalgam shrugged and turned his light to Buddy’s way out, then back to Henry. A dismissive wave of his hand, and the Projectionist’s lumbering gait headed to the depths.

That left Henry and Sammy.

Sammy tilted his head back to frown down at Henry. “So.”

“So.”

The ink man raised a hand to tick the points off on his fingers. “So, you endanger yourself _once_ _more_.” That tone could press anyone into agreement, icy and heated in one sharp sentence. “What will you do if Bendy shows himself? Hm? Hide in the booth?”

“Yes?”

“Oh no. No way in hell. You aren’t going into a gift box for that beast to rip apart.”

The cartoonist scowled. “He’s never broken a booth.” Save for the one booth that looked like it had _exploded_ from the inside. He didn’t want to know how that happened.

“Oh, but with all we’re doing? He might!” The ink man sank down and prodded a finger to Henry’s chest. “You are not-”

He grasped the offending wrist to still the stabbing fingertip. “ _Sammy_.” His tone was firm, brows low and pinched. “Even if I get killed, I always come back.”

The ink man huffed, shoulders hunched. “True. But…”

“No buts. We have to finish this.” He rubbed his thumb against the slick, black coating of Sammy’s wrist and let him go.

Sammy withdrew, still dour as a February day. “Ah, just... do be careful, won’t you?”

“You too.”

Sammy managed a small smile, half-assed though it was. “Very well. Until then.”

Henry nodded and headed over to where the booth sat. “Yeah. Until then.”

The one good thing about going down stairs was that of the many things Henry ended up doing, this action didn’t hurt his back. Bending down, crouching, falling over, swinging the axe, they all hurt somehow. But stairs? Well, Henry could do stairs all day.

But being down by the old railway was weird without Norman lurking around. The Projectionist stayed close but well out of the way. Switches flipped and platform raising, the cartoonist headed back up the stairs. _Almost_ too easy.

To his right was a low grumble, and it wasn’t coming from Norman.

Correction, it _was_ too easy. Henry was stuck on what to do; run to Norman and book it for the haunted house or hide in the booth?

The noise emitted again, followed by a series of thumps akin to uneven footfalls. From the same direction came drifting rings of feathery black that spiraled over the walls.

Screw it. No time to run. He had to hide!

It was… a little weird to be in a booth without Sammy there with him. Not uncomfortable, but kinda… lonely. But it’d be over soon. Maybe Bendy would just… wander by and see no one there. Maybe he’d not come by at all. The telltale rings that signaled Bendy was close faded away a minute after he’d hidden away. The cartoonist counted back from a hundred, just to give the ink demon more time to be away from him. He wondered how Sammy was doing, able to sense the ink demon but not in the right place to help keep Henry safe from-

A hiss of static from the side. Not where Bendy had lurked. Norman thumped up into view, his light sweeping slowly across the path, looking down the stairs into the depths and emitting a confused noise at not finding Henry.

What was he doing? He knew what was coming! He had to! He’d told him to wait off to the side, out of the way of Bendy’s known path! “C’mon, Norman. Get out of here.” Henry grit his teeth and squinted in the light that shone on the booth door as the amalgam turned his way. “ _Please_.”

But the Projectionist tilted his head at the booth, not reaching for it yet. He didn’t have to wait long, as a sudden bang broke the ticking of the reels and everything flickered under a film of red.

The Projectionist turned to the ink demon and screamed. His arms raised up as Bendy leaped into sight.

The demon’s teeth ground out a low noise and he punched Norman with all his might.

Norman shook his projector in a daze. He raised his hands to strike but backed away, stopping to place an arm over the booth door to block it. Then he let out a growling hum and rustled the cables on his back.

Henry’s heart sank. This is what he’d wanted to avoid!

The ink demon… paused. It let out a moan and the spines on its back shifted and shook with a noise not heard but felt. It made Henry’s lungs hum from the depth of its pitch.

Norman growled and cranked his light to its brightest. He let out a screech only for Bendy’s gloved hand to cut him off with a potent punch to the projector.

There was a rubbery clatter of cables and metal, and the Projectionist fell to the side.

Henry didn’t even breathe as the ink demon fixed onto him through that tiny gap, so close his horns were tapping the booth door.

Bendy stared eyelessly into the booth, smile shaking as he let out a low, angry whine. His humanoid hand raised to the gap to lie over the opening like a cage of inked fingers. Bendy watched a moment, then turned like a flinch to Norman on the floor as the amalgam moaned in pain. The ink demon let out a sound crossed between a moan and a sigh, before pivoting and stomping away. He left Norman on the ground where he’d fallen, sulking out of sight.

The red film ended in a flashbulb of bright sepia, and Henry could breathe again. He slumped against the back of the booth, eyes to the ceiling. What the hell was that?

Well… he couldn’t hide in here forever. He kicked the door open with a foot, only to find it wedged against Norman’s leg with but an arm-wide gap to look out from. “N-” Right. Deaf. Okay. The cartoonist crouched down, back protesting the entire time. He reached out and grabbed a cable, giving it a gentle tug. Nothing. A harder tug. Nothing. “Come on. Norman, please.” A hard and fast series of tugs until the amalgam on the floor was jerking with the motions. Heavy sleeper? Maybe.

The Projectionist rolled away from the assault on his cables and pushed himself onto his knees. He cast his light around in confusion and froze on Henry.

Henry waved, ready to bolt if that blow made Norman lose something vital in the memory department. “Hey, Norm.”

The Projectionist waved back, slow but aware. With a series of creaking and ticking reels, Norman got to his feet.

“You good?”

A wobbly hand with the palm to the floor.

“... any pain?”

A head shake.

“Okay. Let’s… Norm. _Please_ don’t do that again.”

The only response the tired man received was a hand to his head that quickly ruffled his already messy hair.

“Alright, alright! Jeez!” He swatted playfully at the hand and was let free of the ruffling. It wasn’t his fault Norman towered! Was his hair _really_ that entertaining? He’d ask Sammy later. _That_ might be fun.

They headed back out to the haunted house entry. Two dark figures stood nearby.

Buddy’s ears were pinned back, and he fidgeted with his fingers, but he lit up when they came into sight.

Sammy looked up and stuffed his axe back into its pant loop. “Ah, there you two are!” Sammy approached with drawn brows. “We heard, ah… screeching.” He gestured vaguely to Norman, who was already extending a cable to Buddy with a grumble. “And I felt… _him_. Close enough that I worried, but I couldn’t… couldn’t pinpoint just where the ink demon was.”

The cartoonist nodded slowly, peering over his glasses. “Yeah. Something, uh… something different happened.” Henry took a moment to think over just what he’d seen outside of the booth. “Bendy was different. He acted… like he knew something was off.”

Sammy’s mouth fell ajar but shut swiftly. “What happened?”

Henry blinked, hand to the side of his head. “I… I don’t know.” He squinted at the floor with a drawn mouth and low brows. “It was like… they were talking. Like an argument. He just…” He looked up at Sammy with a blink. “He punched Norman and stared at me a bit. Tried to speak? I don’t know… Then he ran off.”

But Sammy’s wide eyes and growing smile melted any apprehension. “Bendy broke his pattern! He’s done it before, when he slaps the booth or grunts, but this is huge!”

Henry nodded. “We’re doing something right. I don’t know what, but we’re doing it!” He cracked a wry smile. “We’re getting there.”

“We are.” Sammy’s smile was gentle, amber eyes lidded as they fixed on Henry’s. The ink man swallowed. “Well. We… need to get to the main room.”

“Yeah. But before we do.” The man glanced over at Buddy and Norman, who were both occupied with the haunted house railway car that was slowly making its way to the loading area. Buddy sat in the one poised for launch, ears perked.

“Yes, little sheep?”

Henry quickly gave Sammy a peck on the cheek. Just because he could.

Sammy let out a low whine that ended in a half-hidden chuckle. “Oh, goodness.” His smile grew as he lay a hand to that cheek. He was grateful he couldn't blush like this!

Henry shook his head with a small smile and headed for the haunted house cars. “Let’s go.”

The ink man shook himself from his dazed sway and followed with long strides. “Question. Is riding in the cars necessary?”

“Well…” The cartoonist smirked as Buddy rode out of sight into the main room. “He seems to like it.”

“Mm. I’ll walk.”

“Same.”

Norman was way ahead of them, following Buddy’s car with a concerned hum of his speakers.

There was no music in the haunted room this round. No brute Buddy, either. The car kept traveling to the depths beyond the door, but the wolf adjusted his lanky frame to get out before it pushed through the doors.

Norman quickly extended a cable to Buddy, who welcomed the cable around his wrist with no complaint. This place wasn’t so scary when Norman was so keen on keeping him in one piece! He seemed a good friend to have, even if he couldn’t fully remember who Norman Polk had been.

Henry took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “... okay. I don’t know what to do now.”

Sammy blinked. “You don’t?”

“Well…” He winced and pulled off his glasses to clean them, mindful of the broken lens. “We’re awfully far from the usual pattern.” He placed the glasses back to his face, giving a crooked frown. “This is the part where Buddy throws the car- Buddy, no.”

Buddy had grabbed the back of a second car and was being dragged down the track at a snail's pace. Norman watched, dumbfounded. He’d released his cable on the wolf for this? What was he even doing?

The musician snorted a laugh, hand clapped over his mouth. “Teenagers.”

A head shake. “Yeah… but the new question is what we do to get Allison and Tom here. From how we’ve been going? They should show up soon, but I don’t know when.”

Sammy placed a hooked finger to his lips in thought, brow furled in thought. “Maybe… a scream would help?”

A blink. “What.”

Behind Henry, Buddy had let go of the car and made his way over, Norman close behind. His light was low but aimed at Sammy.

“Hear me out, here me out!” He waved the hand to his mouth at the man. “Allison shows up after Susie screams and lunges for you, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe someone has to scream?” He ended with an uncertain uptick.

“I doubt that’ll-”

Once again, the Projectionist took up the job no one wanted and let loose the loudest, shrillest shriek from the depths of his being at the domed ceiling above. The other three in the room had about the same reaction of clutching their ears and cowering.

The musician was the first to speak up. “God… _damn!_ That was a shrill D sharp!” Sammy cried out from his curled and crouched spot by Henry.

Henry blinked hard. “I thought tinnitus was bad!”

Buddy was giving Norman the most insulted look he could, ears drawn back and pie-cut eyes narrowed. Rude!

Norman didn’t seem to notice, or care, about the three offended people in his direct vicinity. He was more focused on the ink puddle behind him that was fiercely bubbling to life. He’d felt it more than anything and took it as a sign to step out of the way.

Henry stepped backwards and held an arm in front of Sammy. Buddy grabbed his other arm, brows raised in confusion and fear.

But what emerged was not an ink demon, but a horned woman with a drawn cutlass. She bunched her dark mouth in a frown, brows lowered in a sharp scowl that melted plainly to confusion. “Oh.” She blinked at Henry and managed a small smile. “Well, this is different.” Her gaze hopped around to Sammy, Buddy, then froze on Norman. The cutlass raised up just as Tom ran in, pipe ready.

“Easy. This is Norman. He’s… on our side.” Henry raised a placating hand to Allison, brows raised.

She didn’t take her eyes off Norman, nor lower her blade. “Henry. The Projectionist isn’t safe. He’s as bad as the ink demon.”

“He can read lips, you know,” Sammy groused as he lay a hand to Henry’s arm.

The Projectionist hummed at the horned woman and leaned down for a better look, only for Tom to plant himself between them with a growl.

Norman hissed annoyed static at Tom.

Tom thumped his pipe into his mechanical palm at Norman.

Buddy stepped uneasily forward and grabbed a loose cable on Norman’s back.

The horned woman’s gaze flicked to Buddy and melted into confusion. “Who on earth?”

Henry smiled. “That’s Buddy. He’s usually… well. Dead.”

“Oh.” Her wide eyes bounced from each person in the group, gauging them as well-known to new-territory. Her blade lowered. “Okay. Henry.” A thin hand raised to him. “You have your seeing tool?”

He’d forgotten he had the damn thing! Reaching back, he pulled it out. “Yup.”

The confident tension of her thin frame went slack and her eyes fell to the device Henry held. “Okay. I’ve been looking around this place, drawing maps and words, but something happened today. Not long ago. I think… I think it’s important, but I can’t figure it out.”

Henry and Sammy shared a look, and Henry stepped forward. “What was it?”

Allison glanced around the room. “Follow me.”

“Where to?”

She turned to the way Susie usually burst from and walked on. “The Lost Harbor. We’re skipping the part where you get locked up.”

Tom frowned at her back and ran to catch up.

She smiled fondly at him, brushing her fingers against his mechanical arm. “It’s okay. We can’t fit the four of them in the hideout, anyway.”

The one-armed clone dipped his head a bit and dropped back. He let the others pass him until he and Norman caught up to be side by side.

Norman stared at him a moment, then turned his projector upwards to light everyone ahead of him.

Tom huffed and thumped his pipe into a mechanical palm. He chose to be between the Projectionist and everyone else. The more bodies between this beast and his Allison, the better.

They traveled on like that, Allison in front, Henry and Sammy side by side, Buddy behind them, followed by Tom with Norman lighting the way from the back.

She hopped over a fallen beam and kept talking. “This time around, something was off about one of the Butcher Gang clones.”

“How off?”

“It was… not with the other two.” She hung a left to a set of stairs. “I was looking for supplies when I saw one of them, the one with the pipe?”

Henry nodded. “Piper.”

“Right.” Another turn to the second flight. “It was facing a lost one- wait. Sammy?” She glanced at him over a shoulder. “Lost ones are the ones who can talk, right?”

“Both can speak, but only a handful do. Did they have legs?”

“Yes?”

“Those are lost ones. They remember enough to be… miserable.” His mouth twitched. “Continue.”

“The lost one was bashing its head into a wall. Over and over without stopping. It didn’t even look up at the Piper when it grunted or moved. I don’t know what it was trying to do, but I got a look at it with my seeing tool before it wandered off.” Her smile was heard. “You’re not gonna believe it, but the lost one and the Butcher clone had matching marks! Just one in the same place. The lost one had the outline of the marking, and the clone had the actual object.”

The cartoonist blinked. “What was the mark?”

“A paintbrush.” She sighed. “But I don’t know what that _means_.”

“A puzzle to be sure.” But he could admit he impressed him with her findings.

“I have an idea, but it’s kind of out there.”

Henry huffed a chuckle. “Everything is out there in this place. What do you think?”

“I think the lost ones with the markings? Had part of their souls used to make the clones work. But the Boris clones are made of a whole soul… right?” She asked Sammy, looking his way over a shoulder.

“Right. It… would explain the behavior of the less than stable lost ones. Some weep, some bang their heads… that might narrow down which ones to examine for markings.” He smirked at her back. “Good find, Allison.”

“But why a paintbrush?”

Allison shrugged. “Beats me. I…” She paused, wide eyes searching the hall ahead of her. “I’ve been here for so long, there’s not much else to do but take notes and draw. The writing, your writing, may not lead to the way out, but it gives clues. Clues lead to answers.”

Henry nodded in the dark. “I get that. My sketchbook is halfway full, and it was mostly empty when I got it back. The gold ink is still hard to understand. I don’t control what it says at all… but it shows up where I touch.”

Allison hummed in a pleased manner. “Glad I’m not alone.”

“... yeah.” The cartoonist gave Sammy a smile. “No one is.”

In the dark of the stairwell, Sammy smiled back.

/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This might be me reading too much into it, but Allison seems pretty smart. She’s mapped out the studio, she might have built her seeing tool on her own, she repairs Tom’s arm when it gets damaged, and she was halfway to figuring out how to open the doors to Bendy’s lair just by thinking out loud. If anyone can work out some of what’s happening, it’s probably her.
> 
> Also look! Fanart! :D
> 
> https://batimfan-lad.tumblr.com/post/629032769980366848/gay-silence-an-adorable-scene-from-chapter-23-in


	24. Vingt-quatre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a long way down to the bottom of the river.

**It’s a long way down to the bottom of the river** **.**

\

Six people could n’ t fit into one boat. Thankfully, there were two  boats . 

Henry quirked a brow at the boats. “Okay. Who’s riding with who?”

Allison patted Tom’s good arm. “Who would you pick?”

The wolf searched the floor with a scowl, deeper than his usual one, and pointed at Buddy.

Buddy pointed to himself in confusion, then looked up at Norman.

The Projectionist slumped and patted Buddy’s head. Throwing a fit wouldn’t get them anywhere, and the amalgam was wise to how much the horned woman and one-armed wolf didn’t trust him.

“Well, that was easy! Thought there would be a tug-o-war over the wolf.” Sammy made his way over to the boats, a hand lifted in a flippant display of ‘done with this crap,’. “Well… the friendly wolf, anyway.”

Henry sighed out of his nose. “Sammy, don’t antagonize the guy with a pipe.”

“And I have an axe, my little sheep.” He powered the first boat with a tug of the lever and it made a slow path down to the river. The ink barely splashed as it landed. “Who’s first?”

Tom lumbered forward, a mechanical hand grasping Allison’s arm tenderly. He was ready to swing on the closest person with his real arm, glaring at Sammy as he went past.

Buddy’s ears drooped as he, too, headed for the boat.

Allison’s smile was weak and a little forced as she waved. “We’ll see you there, okay?”

Henry waved back. “See you there.”

The second party climbed into the boat and were slowly on their way.

Sammy held the throttle, free hand to his hip and grasping the axe. “Mm. This part is never fun. Not even for me.”

The cartoonist stood between Norman and Sammy, arms crossed over his chest. “Why would it be fun for you?”

“Correction; less fun than ever before… but easier with more than myself.”

Henry squinted his way. “Couldn’t you use the portals?”

“I  _ could _ , but those take energy. The further space between A and B  the more tired I become . So, if B is The Lost Harbor and A is, oh… the music room?” Sammy smirked and steered the vessel. “Well, I’d arrive knocked out. Can’t have the flock fearing too much for their shepherd.”

The Projectionist moaned in alarm as the boat slowed to a crawl. It stalled out completely, the paddle wheel grinding to a halt.

“Norman?” Henry asked as the light hit his face a little too brightly. “Check the wheel. If it’s blocked by ink, try to clear it.”

The amalgam raised a hand to the wheel and gripped a writhing chunk of ink, tossing it into the depths.

The boat churned once more… but something to the right and down a tunnel lurched.

“Ah. There we go.”

The man pulled his seeing tool free and aimed for the ink. Once the hand emerged, he could get a better look. “It might be like the butcher clones Allison mentioned.”

“... maybe.” But the ink man’s anxiety was creeping higher in his chest. The boat halted once more, and Norman was already on it, slapping at the paddle wheel like it owed him money.

Henry glowered at the seeing tool, waiting for the hand and turning every which way. “C’mon, pop up. I _know_ you’re out there.”

“Don’t antagonize the-” A massive hand rose up some yards away- “giant hand.”

“Hold still you son of a- oh! Sammy, there’s something on the palm! A-an outline! Allison!” He lowered the tool with a shout.

“What!” She called from her spot on the other boat.

“There’s a marking on the hand! I-it looks like a-”

Dirtied, white fingers thicker than Henry’s torso hooked the side of the boat and pushed upwards. The trio fell back, Norman hissing and Sammy grasping the sides in terror.

The hand unhooked its fingers, wiggling them slowly before bringing them down again so hard the boat tipped on one side! Ink sloshed into the vessel and left gallons of it in the bottom when it set down and-

Henry went sailing through the air. He had nothing to grab onto and landed with a deep, oily splash some feet away. The hand sank down after him, fingers curled to make a fist...

The situation didn’t hit in one blow. It… took Sammy a minute to realize what happened…

But when  he did?

“Henry!” Sammy leaped from where he’d fallen and gripped the edge of the boat, staring over the side into the ebony depths. He trembled in every limb, eyes aglow and desperate to find a sign that the man wasn’t lost. He’d known Henry had fallen in before, but not _here_. Not with the giant hand that slammed into anything it could get a hold of! “Henry!”

But there was only the slosh and ripples of ink. Henry was lost.

.

.

.

_Lost?_

Maybe.

It was… not good; he assumed.

Dark.

Too dark.

Wet and sticky and thick like tar.

Gross.

Henry didn’t open his eyes. He wouldn’t see anything down here. Okay. Now what? He… he got a breath before the fall. He’d… gasped in shock. That bought him time.

How much?

Enough? Enough. It _had_ to be enough.

Okay. Which way was up? He floated in the black, not sure if he’d be better off sinking to the floor and kicking off, or just kicking his legs to rise.

His lungs were aching.

_oh_

The cartoonist paused. What… who was… that wasn’t quite a voice.

_sorry_

Sorry? Who was-

_hello_

His heart hammered against his ribs.

_shh_

That didn’t calm him down at all. His lungs were burning.

_henry_

No. Who were they? Why did they know him?

_**ink** _

Ink. Okay, then what did-

_look_

He couldn’t. It wouldn’t do him any good.

_ henry you  _ _ need _ _ to look _

The urge to breathe wrapped clawed fingers in his ribs and pushed panic up his breastbone.

_HENRY OPEN YOUR EYES_

No!

_OPEN THEM_

Why?

_OPEN YOUR EYES NOW_

He couldn’t.

_CREATOR YOU WILL LOOK_

Too dark.

_YOU WILL LOOK IF YOU WANT TO_

_SET_

_US_

_FREE_

**I can’t breathe!**

_LOOK AND WE WILL LET YOU BREATHE_

He opened his eyes.

It made complete and no sense all at the same time.

It was… himself. A rough sketch of himself, eyes wide and aglow. The line work was shoddy and scruffy, but it was a complete copy of him, with every marking the seeing tool had shown. It watched, face blank but totally focused on him. Slowly, mechanical as the ink machine’s own pumping motions, the gold copy raised its hands to Henry to reveal dripping palms of molten gold.

Henry raised his own hands, slow and tugged by the weight of ink, and found thin, dripping strands of gold leading from his fingertips to the copy's own hands.

The copy turned without moving, as if on a turntable… and the cartoonist felt his stomach drop out at who he saw next. Attached to his copy’s back was another person, all too familiar.

Joey. A golden sketch of the man, looking just like the one from the kitchen in the apartment. Bu t that smile… that smile was so straight and perfect, teeth too large, too square, too…  _ fake _ .

It was growing, splitting seams he couldn’t see. The golden glow was fading from Joey as his mouth opened wider and wider until…

The mouth spread so wide as to take up Henry’s field of vision, but what lay beyond the gaping mouth was stranger still.

The Ink Machine. The very thing he could never avoid, no matter how much he tried to. Always starting it, always watching it sink lower and lower and-

The teeth clamped shut and shattered the machine, and Henry forgot where he was for only half a second, inhaling the ink.

Something soft and massive enveloped Henry, and he  drifted out of the golden-traced  vision he’d seen.

... but _what_ did it mean?

.

.

.

In their boat, Norman was frantically sweeping the ink with his cable s , a hand holding Sammy by a strap in a death grip. The ink man had stopped screaming a  while ago  and was merely clinging to the side of the boat. He’d shut down, the fear and worry so strong he couldn’t even shut his mouth.

“Any luck?” Allison’s voice rang out over the ink. She had a hand to Buddy’s back, rubbing gentle circles into it. Buddy was covering his eyes in terror, shaking so hard his movements shook the boat.

“... none.” Sammy uttered back. “None.” God, what was he supposed to do? Norman was trying to help, but… What now? What if Henry didn’t come up? Would he float to the top, lifeless, and come back to life like before? “Henry. Please.” He pushed down the lump rising in his throat and blinked his eyes that threatened to spill over.

Something moved some feet away. A smooth, rolling mass like windblown silk drew close. Sammy watched with wide eyes as the giant hand lifted from the depths and dropped someone into the boat. It ignored Norman’s shrieking and sunk back under the waves.

“ Henry!” Sammy hit the deck of the boat and ignored the pain in his knees as he  did . The man lay still, blackened but very much intact. 

The cartoonist slowly, painfully, rolled onto knees and elbows. His head snapped up as his lungs pulled in air, and Sammy pulled back from shock.

Henry’s body lit with gold, like the embers of lit paper gone as it burned away the ink and revealed the human underneath. The marks that the seeing tool would show lit for all to see, the gold light fading away as the man vomited his own river of ink. The last gold to fade were Henry’s eyes, staring up at Sammy in a mix of fear and confusion.

“... Henry?” The ink man raised a hand to him cautiously, brows furrowed.

The cartoonist turned and grabbed Sammy in a bear hug, panting and shaking but so far from wanting to let go. “Shit.” He swallowed and coughed at the burning of his throat. “Sammy. Holy shit.”

“I’ve got you.” The ink man hugged back. He glanced over at Allison and gave a thumbs-up her way.  He could feel her relief even so far away.

Henry pulled back and let his forehead fall forward to rest on Sammy’s collarbone. “I… I saw something. It looked like me, but… drawn. A gold sketch. It… when it turned around, Joey was behind it, and he… I don’t know. He opened his mouth and the ink machine was… in there… I…” He gagged, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be spitting ink for a week.”

Norman’s light scanned the depths, and a cable reached for the throttle of the boat. The Projectionist realized two things then;  the men on the floor needed space, and he could  _ totally _ handle the boat on his own.

T he six of them pulled into the Lost Harbor.  Sammy didn’t let Henry go just yet, still stroking  the back of his neck with fingers paused in auburn hair. “We’ve landed. My little sheep, I need you to stay back for a moment.”

“M’kay. Why?” He… didn’t want to let go, but they had work to do.

“I need to make what we’re here for known to the flock. I must clarify that you-” he stood slowly, facing the Lost Harbor with a determined frown- “are here to help.”

Henry nodded and swallowed. “Will they believe you?”

Sammy hopped out of the boat and onto the dock, turning to offer a hand to Henry. “They have so far. And with how different I look today from yesterday, they’d be foolish not to believe.” He looked at the other three. “Did you catch any of that?”

Allison made a face. “Stay out of the way while you talk to them. That it?”

A nod. A squeeze to Henry’s hand. “That’s it.” He managed a soft smile at Henry. “Ready to see me work a little magic?”

The man managed a tired huff of a laugh. “You’re plenty magical.”

Neither of them caught the silent conversation between Tom, Allison, and Norman. Tom gave them a disapproving glower, while Allison’s gaze grew uneasy… but Norman shook a cable at them and made laced-fingers over his speaker. He pointed at the two of them and held a single finger to where his mouth would have been. 

Seemed they got the message, considering the wide-eyed look of discomfort Buddy gave the two of them. But the friendly wolf didn’t care what they thought as he raced to Henry and gave him a  soft hug. A tight one didn’t feel right after what he’d seen happen.

H enry hugged back. “Yeah. I’m okay.” His hazel gaze fell on Allison. Beside her, Tom focused his attention on his pipe.

The horned woman climbed out of the boat and  made her way over. “Well, this is a change.”

Norman hefted himself out of the boat and climbed onto the dock. His light fell on Allison and held, before he headed further into the tiny village, staying to the side and away from the center. Buddy gave Henry a pat and followed.

In the village, in front of the building Sammy used to burst from, Sammy stood at the steps and called out. His mask was down, but his voice was bright in the dark. “My flock, I have come bearing splendid news. Come forth and see. Come out of your homes, your puddles, your corners, and listen! Your shepherd has been changed for the better!”

He’d only had to speak for a moment, before the lost ones and searchers alike came out in droves. The village wasn’t huge, but there had to be fifty to emerge. Searchers crawled across the ground, lost ones limped and waddled from their houses, puddles burbled with life.

Henry felt himself smile. Sammy definitely had his own brand of magic… but he’d be lying if he said the mask being down didn’t twang a nervous vein in his gut.

Once the village gathered, the ink man took the mask off to the gasps of the ink people watching him. “Look upon me!” Sammy grinned at them with bright eyes. “I am growing whole. We have him to thank, but be aware, listen!” He had pointed Henry’s way, but drew back when a few of the flock turned to look. “He is tired from his journey. His tireless work exhausts him. All those with me this day need rest. Peace. Quiet.” His voice lowered back to something closer to gentle. “You may ask _me_ questions if you so wish, but they are to be left alone.”

A lost one in the group was still watching Henry. They waved slowly.

The cartoonist waved back.

The lost one ducked their head a tad, but turned fully back to Sammy.

Henry sighed. “Allison.”

She smiled  next to him . “Henry, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I… saw two things in the river. One was a marking on the giant hand.”

Her eyes widened. “What was it?”

“It kinda looked like a  cup ? Like… a  coffee  mug .”

A squint.  “ Coffee mug ?”

He nodded. “Yeah. And the other thing.” He told her what he’d told Sammy, just better worded and not out of breath.

By the end, the horned woman set a curled fist to her dark mouth, brows knit in thought. “I don’t know what that could mean. But I’ll keep it in mind. It must be important if the ink itself wanted you to see it.” Her free hand fidgeted at her side, brows pinched. “Henry?”

“Yes?”

“Are… uh… never mind.”

“Go ahead.”

“Are you and Sammy…” Her mouth shrank into a tight bunch of wrinkles. “Together?”

Henry blinked. “Are you and Tom?”

“I…” She looked over to where the wolf stood. He’d crossed his arms over his chest and was now having a wordless conversation with Norman and Buddy. Buddy was gesturing here and there, retelling the tale of how the creature known before only as The Projectionist had joined their side. Tom was… skeptical, but listening. “I don’t know.”

“Have you told Tom yet?”

She shook her head, eyes to the ink falling from the massive pipe up above. “ What can I tell him? That we were both human and were once married?”

“ Still  are .  Married, I mean. ”  The cartoonist shrugged. 

T he horned woman frowned. “I… it doesn’t bother me. You and him. It doesn’t.”

“Good.” Henry peered over his glasses with a deadpan stare. “Because I don’t care if it does or not.”

She drew away, but nodded in firm understanding.

The ink man made his way over, still smiling. “That went wonderfully, my little sheep.”

“I saw. You have a way with them.”

“Of course. I am their shepherd, after all.”

The horned woman narrowed her eyes at Sammy in question. “You said we needed to rest? Where do we do that?”

“There are cots. I’ll take you to them.” Sammy smirked. He tapped index and thumb in thought. “But, you are safe here so long as I still stand.”

“Any idea why Bendy never comes here?” she asked.

“Too much noise.”

“Mm. Makes sense.”

/

Henry settled onto the cot in Sammy’s room easily enough, but nothing he said could get the ink man to take the cot instead of him. “You sure you don’t want to-”

“I’m sure.”

The cartoonist propped himself onto an elbow. “Then why the long face?”

Right. He had a _face_ now. “There are things I don’t… know _how_ to ask for.” The ink man clamped his mouth shut and let out an unhappy grumble.

Henry smiled sleepily. “We’ve only been at this for… a day? One loop?”

The ink man sighed. “Yes. Yet I worry I ask too much of you, my little sheep.”

Henry sighed softly in the dark. “Don’t worry. Or try not to. I’ll let you know if you-”

A gentle series of knocks at the door.

Sammy squinted at the door before humming and heading over. He pulled it open with a cool “Yes?”

A lost one held a folded cot under an arm. Their eyes turned up a bit at the corners in a shy smile. “We thought it best to give you another so you _both_ could rest.”

Sammy smiled calmly and took the cot. “Fantastic. You have my thanks, dear sheep.” He waited for the lost one to turn away before he shut the door with his knee. He turned to Henry with a crooked frown. “Well. Look what we have here.”

Henry nodded and sat up. “Did you want your cot back?”

“I… yes. Yes, I do.”

“Okay.” Henry got up with a grunt and took the cot from the ink man. He paused, brows knit before smoothing with his smile. “Get on. I got an idea.”

Amber eyes blinked slowly. “As you wish.” Sammy sat and watched, legs up on the cot that creaked a little with his weight.

Henry grunted as he undid the legs of the cot and set it down not an inch away from Sammy’s. “Too close?”

“No. Perfect.”

Henry sighed and climbed onto the freshly done cot. “Good.” He lay down with a series of pops and the bone-deep desire to sleep the loop away. He turned to lie on his side to face Sammy, who was… still sitting up. “Not tired?”

“Mm… I am.”

“Then lay down.”

Inked fingers drummed out a staccato thump, amber eyes dancing around. “It’s… silly.”

“I already said I’d tell you if-”

“I know. I just…”

“Sammy.” Henry’s voice was laced with concern and coated in a dull, tired ache. “Do it.”

The ink man blinked, and lay on one side, facing Henry. He shimmied a little to be perfectly face to face, brow furrowed over bright, amber eyes. The ink man lay his right hand to Henry’s cheek, thumb grazing cheekbone. “I have a secret, my little sheep. About the words on my back.”

Henry nodded softly.

“The Lighter Side of Hell was all  _ me _ .  F or one intense, five-minute burst, I wrote some of my best work.” He blinked, hand stilled. “And I ma de it for  _ you _ . It was after the roof. Even then, you were kind to me.”

“No reason not to be.”

“I respectfully disagree, but that song was for… well.  _ A _ finale.  Possibly, a sad love song for your newly made Alice Angel to sing.”  He huffed, eyes closed,  leaving only  slits of amber. “But Mister Drew took it and turned it into something peppy and bright. A love song for Bendy to sing to Alice. And before you ask.” Amber eyes opened. “I could hear them making the movie  while I struggled through the ink . They replaced me quickly and pumped out an hour of tripe, capped with my music.” He smirked. “You say you saw the movie?”

“Well… my kids loved Bendy, and I couldn’t say no to them. It was, uh, maybe an hour long. Kinda boring plot. Bendy had to team up with everyone he’d ever met to save the town they lived in from a greedy fat cat.” He smiled, eyes shut. “A _literal_ fat cat. Had a hat and monocle and everything.”

“Ew.”

“And it ended on a musical number that just…” The cartoonist shook his head, before laying a hand over the one on his face. “Well… Bendy wasn’t supposed to talk. Ever. But I have to say, they picked the best voice for him.”

Sammy smiled, and his teeth glowed. “Well, they did _one_ thing right.”

“Yeah… but Bendy and Alice as a couple? You’re kidding me. I meant her to be like a big sister!”

Sammy’s shoulders shook with quiet laughter. “That’s where they put my song?”

“Yeah.” He felt warmth spread in his cheeks and he yawned. “I like the original better.”

Sammy withdrew his hand and rolled onto his stomach. “I’d hope so, my little sheep. I wrote it for _you_.”

Henry’s cheeks darkened. “... Sammy?”

“Mm?”

“Is little sheep _just_ for me now?”

“Absolutely.”

“Heh. Cute.”

“Glad you think so. I’ll see you in the music room next loop?”

Next loop. Right. “Right.”

“Alright… Henry?”

“Mm?”

“May I, uh…” He paused, unsure how to phrase in a way other than bluntly. “May I try something?”

“Uh… sure.”

Sammy slid an arm over Henry’s middle, palm pressed to his back. Not tight, not clinging… he just needed to do this simple thing.

Henry chuckled. “I like that. Good idea.” But suddenly that inch gap between the cots suddenly felt too much. But he had an idea. Slipping his arm under one on his waist, Henry returned the half-hug gesture, smiling in the dark.

A blink from Sammy. “Liked it so much you copied me?”

“You bet.”

“Heh. Goodnight, little sheep.”

“Goodnight, Sammy.”

And even though the hell of the studio was ever looming, at least _this night_ was good.

\


	25. Vingt-cinq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past laid bare and to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings: slur use.

**Past laid bare and to rest.  
**

/

Never let it be said that life in th e loops was strictly hand holding and shy kisses. Henry and Sammy never lost sight of their goal to set everyone free, even if they took moments to simply exist with the other. All the work put in made it even more worth it when a quiet moment came… and they had had far too much quiet in these last  dozen loops since taking the next step together.

Susie had decided that, with Norman on their side and Buddy totally off the table, her game wasn’t  fun anymore. There was no humming in the toy room, no jingle with a jump scare, no threats and demands for parts… and  absolutely no stealing of a friendly wolf. 

Henry would open the doors to the Angel room, axe in hand and Sammy close by. The lights would stay off, the music wouldn’t play, nothing but the same line over and again.

“Get out.”

Henry wouldn’t complain had it meant progress.  But  a dozen loops  of being told the same thing did nothing to quell suspicion. Progress couldn’t be made if Susie didn’t do something other than hide in the dark.  They weren’t getting anywhere with the fragments–Sammy’s name for the parsed parts of souls that fueled failed clones–and Sammy had had  no flashbacks or restored body parts  since Norman had  joined up .

So. In Buddy’s hideout, alone together, the musician and the cartoonist did what they always did when things weren’t moving forward.

Talk.

“This is stupid.”

“Mhm.” Henry leaned back in the chair and stared up at the empty ceiling. The Bendy clock ticked on and the banjo, while out, was quiet. “If Susie refuses to work with us, we can’t go forward.”

Inked fingers drummed the neck of the banjo. “We could… capture  _ her _ instead?”

A bewildered noise,  and Henry’s head lifted to shoot him an amused stare.

“No, hear me out. Norman could tie her up with his cables? Drag her behind him and force her to work with us.”

“What’s with you tying people up?” But he couldn’t hide his tired laugh. “I dunno. I couldn’t make progress with anyone by force.”

“That why Allison’s held up telling Tom anything?”

Henry shrugged. “She’s scared he won’t remember enough. Just like I was scared a few loops ago when you were reset to sacrifice me.”

The ink man frowned crookedly. “True.”  He strummed out a muted B flat. “Maybe… I could try to speak with her.”

“Doesn’t she, uh…” How to say it nicely.

“Hate me? Yes. She does.” An F floated softly in the air. “But… I have an inkling that she and I need to talk something over.” He raised his amber eyes to Henry, head sinking into his shoulders. “I told you what she and I had done, yes?”

“Yeah.” Henry groaned and stretched his arms over his head with a series of sharp pops. “You almost dissolved on the toy room floor when you remembered it.”

“... that I did.” He swallowed and his mouth drew tight. “I… I honestly believed that if I tried hard enough with the right woman? I’d be… well. _Normal_.”

“Normal’s a setting on a toaster. Are you a toaster?”

Sammy’s startled laughter filled the hideout.

\

“Get out.”

Here they went again.  “No.” Henry cracked his neck and stared into the darkness. “I know you’re angry, but this isn’t gonna last.”

“It lasts as long as I will it, errand boy.”

“The longer you keep avoiding it, the less anyone will want to help you when we get free.”

A hissed sigh in the dark. “What do  _ you _ know?”

“Joey betrayed you, just like _everyone else_ down here.” He sighed out of his nose and stepped closer. “And while I can sympathize? You have no right to make it worse for others when we’re trying to set them free.”

A throat clearing at the doorway. “He’s right, you know.” Sammy braved the dark and joined Henry in the Angel room, back straight and head held high. No more fearing this woman, for any reason old or new. “You’re holding fast to control you know you’ll lose, eventually. Why delay when you’ve seen that we’re getting close?” _How_ close was still a mystery.

Silence. The lights clicked on to reveal the twisted angel leaning against the door to the dressing room. Head tilted back with a cool glare, she looked as much a fright as when she’d saunter down the hall to rip Buddy away. But… not quite. No smile, not even a smirk. Her bright eye glanced between the two men slowly, before she spoke. “Henry.”

He dipped his head a little but didn’t look away. He gave the axe in his grip a squeeze.

“Wait outside while your prophet and I have a talk, would you?”

“No, thanks.”

She leaned off the wall  and planted a hand to one hip. “I can assure you, we’re just in need of a long overdue chat.” 

Henry glanced at Sammy.

His inked jaw was set, brows low and mouth drawn into a sharp frown. He held out a hand but didn’t take his golden gaze off the angel. “Only if I may keep my axe.”

She chuckled his way. “Whatever makes you feel better.”

He felt the worn, wooden handle of the axe slide into his grip and a warm, calloused hand grasp his shoulder. “I’ll be outside.”

He nodded. “Get the door, please.”

“Sure.” But none of this settled right with Henry. Still… he already knew Sammy could handle himself if need be. He doubted Alice- _Susie_ would try something as stupid as attacking in such a confined space… but if they needed their privacy, he’d give it. For a minute. He’d wait.

The damaged angel’s posture relaxed with her frown, striding to the glass and back-lit in cool sepia. Her arms folded against the inner sill of the window. “So.”

“So.”

“... what exactly is your plan?” she drawled. “Think you can sweet talk me to your side of the glass?”

“No amount of honey could get you out here, and I know it. What I don’t understand is why.” The ink man’s free hand tapped out a tango and his gold eyes wandered the room. “It took two hundred and seventy-five loops to realize Henry needed my help. Another few dozen for Allison to come around. The Projectionist only a dozen ago… but you.” He growled out a sigh. “You’ve known for so long and still fight it? How can you be so adamant to refuse the way to freedom?”

_That_ was the wrong phrasing, since her face melted into a twisted, silent snarl. “Refuse? Like you refused me?”

He blinked… and felt heat rush to his face. “Oh, for god’s sake! Decades ago and you still hold a grudge!”

“Was I just a game to you, prophet?”

He pointed with a free hand, snarl lines marring the bridge of his nose. “You played games too! You slept with Joey after I ended our arrangement.”

A haughty shake of the head. “Arrangement.” A bitter laugh leaked from her ruined mouth. “Should have guessed I’d meant nothing.”

... good god, was he truly that callous in those days? “Nothing? Susie, I cared about you. I wasn’t good at showing it, but I did. But that care was only _friend_ _ship_. You sprang your date idea on me in front of half the music room!” Free hand over his heart and face pinched in pained confusion, Sammy’s voice lowered, soft in the dark. “What was I supposed to _do?_ ”

Her sigh came from deep in her chest, the bass rattle of her  undertone rumbling true. “If I knew, we might not be here.”

“No, we wouldn’t.”

They were silent for a minute. Susie’s good eye roved the ink man before her. A claw tapped the opposing elbow with a tight half-frown. “You say you cared about me, but all I _really_ remember is a handsome man calling me worthless and fake.”

The ink man hummed and held up a hand. “You hit me.  _ Multiple _ times in  front of a new hire . And you slept with Joey before we made our…” Did it count as a breakup if it hadn’t been real to start with? “Breakup public.” It would have to do.

“He cares and calls me worthless-”

Sammy frowned and took a step forward. “You  _ screwed _ _ Joey  _ while  _ supposedly _ with me. No one told me to my face save for Norman, because he knew I  wouldn’t bite  _ his _ head off ! I didn’t understand if  you were ending the charade with a dramatic flair , or was I just  _ that bad _ in bed!  Of all ways to end something. You did it by screwing our boss! ”

She snickered. “You did alright for a  man light in his loafers .”

Ha. She’d always been a queen of backhanded compliments. “ And y ou… were lovely.  Stunning and talented with such beauty in every note you sang... ” His gaze remained on the floor, shoulders slumped. “That was the problem  with asking me to date you . How could I tell you, one of the prettiest women to  _ ever _ seek my attention, no?”

The angel sneered. “So you blame me?”

He winced. “As much as I blame myself. You think I didn’t know you wanted more? I’m not blind.”

“You should have said-”

“And _you_ should have let it drop instead of telling everyone that you were the one to make the first move. Gossip got around, my hearing was sharp as hell, and you… _cornered_ me.”

She cooed and pouted, snarl lines wrinkling her nose. “Poor baby, the  pretty lady wanted a date.”

“ _You_ wanted to climb the ladder, and _I_ wanted to protect myself! When I couldn’t give you something real, you humiliated me!” His voice rose to a shout so sharp it made the damaged angel draw back. “Don’t you understand? You could have been a sky-clad Vivien Leigh and I wouldn’t have been able to love you.”

Susie jumped up and leaned her palms on the sill, growling. “You should have said something other than yes then, Prophet!”

His mouth twitched in annoyance. “If I had, it’d be as bad as writing faggot on my forehead. You really were a shameless gossip.”

Susie, not Malice, not Alice, frowned bitterly. “ _My_ _brother_ was the same as you, but if you’d actually tried to enjoy it-”

“Oh, so you knowingly slept with me and got mad when you knew I didn’t reciprocate.” He couldn’t. He’d _tried_. With her and so many others he had given it his all and fell painfully, brokenly short.

“My brother found a wife just fine. I was wrong about you, though. Truth hurts, doesn’t it? You put us here, put me here. This face of mine is your fault.” A dark claw trailed down the glass as she sneered. “Keep telling yourself it’s my fault, false Prophet, but-”

Sammy slammed a hand to the glass and rumbled at her slowly, teeth bared.  “ I am  _ not _ a prophet. And  _ you _ are  _ not _ an angel.  _ We _ are two broken monsters struggling for freedom, and  _ you _ are the one throwing things off time and again. Stop acting like you’re not  as  guilty as I am. ”

The damaged angel stared and released a tired, annoyed sigh.  “ Then, Sammy Lawrence,” Her good eye shut and that same side twitched. “There is nothing left to  discuss .” Her lights clicked off. “Just… get out of my  domain  and go play with your new savior .”

Axe in one hand and shoulders hunched, Sammy turned on a heel and left the room, and Susie, in the dark. He kicked the door shut on the way out.

Henry’s head snapped to the door, tossing the Bendy plush he’d been squeezing with little ceremony. By the look of the ink man’s face, what happened in there hadn’t been… pleasant. “You good?”

“As I can be.” A quiet laugh. “She… let me have it.”

“Okay?”

“But I don’t… I don’t think she’ll be bothering us this go around.” And if she did, he wouldn’t hesitate to knock her down another peg. “But! I can blush, apparently! Or I have a fever, who knows at this point if it matters!”

Henry blinked. “Are you _sure_ you’re okay?”

“Of course I’m sure. Why?”

Henry peered over his glasses, trouble lining around his eyes. “Because you’re shaking.”

H e blinked. “Am I?” He lifted a hand up to see tremors in the limb. “Ah. Fantastic.”

“Let’s… go find Norman.”

“Alright.” The musician gripped Henry’s nearest hand and tugged him on to the elevator. “This is my cure-all for shaking hands. That’s fine by you though… right?”

Henry smirked at Sammy’s back  and gave the hand a squeeze. The tremors were already fading . “Right.”

/

One good thing about the Susie issue? The four of them had getting to Bendy-Land down to a science.

Also, w ith Susie on the back burner until she came  around on her own, the musician and cartoonist could focus on the newer issue; clone fragments.

Henry held up the rifle and took down a set of targets. “So. Have any new ideas about the fragmented souls?”

The ink man hurled a ball at the milk jugs with a grunt. “No idea. We don’t even know how many there are.” 

Henry set the rifle down with a clack as the doors parted. “Well, there’s the river hand with a  mug on the wrist, Piper with a paintbrush, and the lost one banging his head when we head through the ventilation shaft.”

“Still not sure how you managed that, my little sheep. Had no idea you were so flexible.”

Henry chuckled. “Well, when we can figure out what an empty circle on someone’s temple means, we’ll be a step closer to finishing this.”

The ink man nodded, sticking close. “True.” Sammy’s voice dipped low. “If Allison’s theory is right, then Bertrum the angry whirligig may be just a fragment.” A furious fragment.

“Like the river hand? Not a clone but… weird?”

Sammy  smirked . “Exactly.  Now then.”  He grabbed a soup can and hurled it at the Butcher clones circling below. “Time for levers.”

“About that.” Henry’s voice was hushed as they headed down the stairs. “There’s a lost one in the section I go to. I want a look at her, but she’s… caged.”

“Oh.” The quiet regret churning under one word wasn’t lost in the quiet.

“There’s also a tape from a Lacie Benton.”

“Never met her. Feel free to play it.”

Henry didn’t turn around as he entered the small room, brow furrowed at the weeping creature in the cage. “Still, be ready for it. You haven’t remembered anything lately, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

A flippant hand wave. “Play it. I’ll live.”

Henry clicked the button and waited.

_"The only thing that works around here is my ulcer. Half these people don't know a wrench from a dang steamroller. Buncha morons is what they are. Spend their day in the warehouse arguin' over who's supposed to be doin' what or playing them silly games. Still, I'm not complainin'. I get most of my time to myself. Suits me just fine. Only thing that bothers me is that mechanical demon in the corner. Bertrum's been working on it for a month now. Says it will walk someday and maybe dance. All it does now is give me the creeps. I swear, when my back's turned, that thing's movin'."_

A cursory look at Sammy told Henry that, yes, the automaton set his teeth on edge.

He pulled out the seeing tool and ushered Sammy to look.

A squint, and the ink man bent down a little to get a look.

IT NEVER MOVES.

“Mm. Good.” He uttered a nervous chuckle before taking a step back. “Very good.”

But Henry eyed the weeping lost one. “ Hm... ” Henry  held up his seeing tool and gave her a thorough once over. Because of her position, he couldn’t make anything out for her, save the wording on the floor asking her not to cry.  No angle he could get from where he stood revealed anything useful.  His mouth drew into a tight line and he glanced at Sammy.  “Why  is she in there, anyway?”

Sammy sighed at Henry’s tone. “Heresy… I think.” He frowned. “And before you ask, _yes_ , I put her there.”

Henry’s brow furrowed. “Would letting her out be okay? I might get a better look at her this way.”

“I don’t see why not?” The ink man reached for the lever near to the cage, and the gate raised up into the wall above. With a sidestep, he held out his free hand to the open room. “Dear sheep, you may go. We forgive you for what has happened.”

The lost one timidly glanced up at Sammy, then back down.

“Off you go,” he prompted. He… wasn’t sure how long he’d left her here. Or what brand of heresy she’d committed. If it was even heresy or if he simply was in a dark mood.

The lost one stumbled shakily to her feet, eyes aglow and glued to the floor. She gave Henry the briefest glance and limped out of view.

Sammy blinked after her and gave his hand a solid look over. Never let it be said he _enjoyed_ hurting people...

Yet he tried to sacrifice the man before him the moment he had a chance.

Henry’s brows shot up. “Oh! Okay. Good news, she has a marking. Looked like a wrench outline.”

Sammy said nothing, still looking where she’d gone.

“Sammy?”

He shook his head, giving a pained smile. “Yes. Good find.”

“Sammy.” Henry replaced the tool with a step forward. “You’ve been off since you talked with Susie. If you need a breather, we can take one.”

“Breather.” His face pinched in a sneer. “Henry, you’re far too forgiving.”

The cartoonist squinted. “Are we talking about the same thing here?”

Sammy turned and headed to the other lever across the room. “Doubtful.”

Henry sighed quietly before replacing the tool and following. “If it’s about the lost one being locked up-”

“It is… and it’s not.” He pulled down the lever and turned for the stairs, shoulders hunched. “Honestly, the more of me I remember, the less of me I _like_. And that doesn’t bode well for us on the other side.”

“How so?” Henry followed, worry digging quivering fingers in his gut.

Sammy turned at the top of the stairs and looked down. Both hands clasped the rails with ticking fingertips.

Henry’d never seen Sammy so  worked up . 

“What if… I fear that… _Henry_. What if I fully remember and become myself as intended, but I’m such an ass you decide against being together?” He slumped backwards and pulled up his hands, palms up as they gesticulated limply. “I have been trying to become myself, Henry. But the more I learn, the more I want to… not be _him_. Be _me_.” His brows furrowed over wide eyes. “What then?”

The cartoonist blinked, hazel eyes searching the floor for the words to put together for the man above him. Something to hold on to while they still worked through this sepia hell. “Do you remember when we first worked together? To escape, I mean.” Henry took a step forward on the stairs.

“I do. Vaguely.” It was some loops ago, and so many pieces had fallen back into place inside of him that the words they’d said were lost.

A nod. “I said, ‘I miss my friend. I want him back.’, and I meant it.” Henry raised a hand in a one-armed shrug. “You had plenty of moments where you were an asshole. I can’t say you weren’t. But with your workload, your sensitive hearing, the fact that half the people who worked here were assholes right along with you? I saw a man dedicated to his work and protective of the few people he liked.” He managed a sad smile. “And I was  lucky to be one you liked.”

Lucky .  Sammy worked his jaw and blinked to clear his vision. “Well. You know  just what to say, Henry. ”

“ Just being honest.”

The musician turned and finished climbing the stairs. “If I’m what you want-”

“You are. I’ll take the real you any day.”

The ink man smiled softly to himself. Maybe it was best that he got cut off. Let that bothersome train of thought die off and keep going as they had been.

Silently from her hiding place, far from prying eyes, a sullen angel watched the pair from her many hidden screens… and thought.

\


	26. Vingt-six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hints, hurt, and horrible ideas.

**Hints, hurt, and horrible ideas.**

**/**

Loop three hundred- and - _ twenty three _ .

How the hell did they even get this far?

Okay, the answer was Joey, but it wasn’t hopeless like it had been so many loops ago. Tedious, repetitive, grueling, but not _hopeless_.

Susie’s refusal to come around to things was as unpleasant as Allison not being able to talk with Tom about their past as husband and wife. They had one thing in common; the next step was stubbornly being avoided.

But… it wasn’t pointless. Sammy became more himself and less the prophet with each round, and every time, without fail, the cartoonist fell for him a little more. It helped that Sammy was just as keen to Henry as Henry was to him… but never let it be said that figuring out how to fit two men onto one cot was a simple task.

Not that either was _complaining_ about it.

New loop, new chance at getting closer.

So, when the trio left for the toy room and headed straight for the elevator,  it was… interesting to find the path ahead taking a new turn.

“ Show of hands, who wants to say hello to Susie?” Sammy asked.

“Not it.” Henry murmured, spying Buddy next to him, shaking his head quickly in a no.

The ink man feigned a pout and examined the axe blade with half-lidded eyes.  “Mm. Guess she gets nothing.”

“ _Oh, trust me. I’m used to being and getting nothing.”_

“Shit!”  The musician jumped and fumbled for his axe before freezing with a scowl.  How was she still so scary? Not even in the same room and here he was, about to crap himself!

Susie, however, chuckled in honest amusement.  _ “Aw, I think I startled the inky little man.” _

“Little!” He was taller than half the people down here!  As a human, he’d been one fine beanpole!

Buddy covered his mute mouth, trying not to laugh at the poor guy.

The cartoonist, however, wasn’t laughing. His gaze hopped to the closest speaker.  “H ello , Susie.” Henry paused. “Is Susie okay?”

“ _Mm… no._ _ Not really. ” _

He frowned. “Okay, what is?”

“ _Seeing as we’re all aware that I’m just another monster”_ The bass growl of her hidden voice overtook her words at the end, before she let out a cool sigh.  _ “Ma’am will do.” _

He could live with that. If it meant they were going forward, he’d roll with it! “Then, ma’am, what do you want to talk about?”

“ _ Why do you think I have something to say?” _

“Last ten times I tried talking to you, you told me off.” He managed a small smile. “I figure you’d at least insult me.”

A scoff that could have been a laugh. _“_ _Oh,_ _Henry, give me some credit,”_ cooed the angel from her hiding place. _“_ _Something’s different_ _._ _Can you guess_ _what_ _?_ _”_

“You’re talking. Is that it?”

“ _No. Try again.”_

Guessing games? Great. He sighed. “If you mean Buddy, he brought the miner hat with him.”

Buddy lifted said hat in greeting to… no one in particular. He figured that traversing the dark with Norman would be even easier if he had the hat with him.

She chuckled and leaned  closer to  the mic. _ “Not the wolf, dear errand boy. I’m feeling generous enough to give you a hint, since you  _ _ won’t _ _ figure it out on your own.  _ _ Your deviation might bring salvation… But the things you miss on the way only snag at your feet as they go. _ _ ” _

Henry made a disgruntled noise and glanced at the ink man beside him to find him frowning. “Then… clue me in?” He held his hands open, palms to the ceiling.

“ _That little clone with teeth on the top of its head. What did you call it? I know you gave them names.”_

Edgar? “The Striker. Why?”

The delicate lilt dropped completely. _“It’s not with the other two.”_

The men traded a glance. “What?”

“ _ That trio of  failures sticks like glue, but this time? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say it was looking for something.” _

“Why tell us?”

“ _Mm. Why not?_ _Have fun._ _”_ Her line went dead.

Sammy’s bright eyes narrowed at the closest speaker. “I don’t like this.”

A shrug. “Fair enough, but it’s better than nothing.” He turned to Buddy then, brows up. “Buddy?”

The wolf perked.

“Can you let Norman know to be on the lookout for the Striker? The, uh, the one with teeth in the top of it’s head?”

Buddy cocked his head.

“If he sees it, he needs to… uh…” But he let out a sigh and glanced Sammy’s way. “What the hell do we do once we have the clones matched to lost ones?”

The ink man shrugged. “No idea, little sheep.”

Buddy shrugged and gave a thumbs up. He’d let Norman know what was up. It might take a few tries to get the message across, but he could do it. Easier than crawling in a vent and opening a set of sealed doors.

\

There  had  been  no signs of the missing butcher clone on the way to Bendy-Land, which could have meant something if Henry understood what the clone was up to. Did it have mind enough  t o be up to anything, anyway?  Having a mouth on top of your skull didn’t exactly say you were smart… or had a brain… or were even technically alive.

He and Sammy stood at the top of the stairs, finding no Butcher gang clones below.

The ink man huffed. “Well. This is  dull as dirt .  Nothing to fling cans at today. ”

“Maybe the other two are looking for the missing one?” the cartoonist offered with a smile as he headed down to the left path. Clones or not, there were levers to pull.  
  
“Maybe they remember how Norman handles them and took off to stay in one piece.” Axe in its loop at his waist, Sammy thumped down the stairs after him.

Henry entered the left room and paused at who was waiting in the open cell. What the hell? “Sammy?”

The quick fall of footsteps met his ears as the ink man raced into the room, axe ready. But he quickly found he needed no axe. “Oh.” Sammy tilted his head at the sight, brows furrowed and an unease rising inside of him.

The lost one freed last loop was in the same place she’d always been… but there was no gate, and she wasn’t weeping. She stood, arms around herself and shaking. She faced the corner and swayed on unsteady legs.

Sammy squinted at her back and approached slowly. “Dear sheep, why are you here?”

She spoke but didn’t turn. “This is home. It was for so long  that home can’t be anything else. I can’t go anywhere  and feel right about it . Only here. Just this place.”

The ink man raised a hand to her. “But you are forgiven-”

She turned her head and pinned Sammy with a forlorn glare. “Forgiven for what? What did I even do? Do you even know my crime? The one who put me here was ya but you can’t name it, can you?”

His hand dropped, and he sighed lowly. “No, I can’t.”

“Because you’re different. You’re not our prophet anymore.”

He drew back with a deep frown. “No, I’m really not.”

She turned and thumped her forehead with a wet smack. “Then you’re wrong to let me go. You’ve no power, no say, nothing. Just go away.”

“Hey now.” Henry took a step into the cage and gently pushed Sammy out of the way to the lost one. “We’re trying to help everyone, you’re part of that. Why are you  upset about being  let out ?”

She turned her head and rested a cheek to the wall. Tired, glowing eyes fell on Henry with a huff. “What life is there for ones like us? Beyond these walls and stuck like this. There’s nowhere to go when you’re a monster like this. You look human enough to go back to your old life, but me? Down here is better.” Her eyes narrowed. “Who are you, anyway?”

“My name is Henry.”

“Fine. Go away, Henry.” Turning her head, she shut him out.

The ink man made a move to snap but was halted by Henry’s hand to his elbow.

Henry tried again. “I want to help.”

“Ya can’t.”

“Why not?”

She sighed and sagged on her feet. “Say we are free and outside. What  if we look like this forever ?”

“I…” He could kick himself. What if that was very much a possibility? “I don’t know.”

“And until you know? Both of you can go away.”

“...fine.” The cartoonist pulled the lever needed and made his way out of the room.

Sammy sighed and shook his head at the lost one. So much for freedom on her end, then.

The floor was empty, no clones in sight.  But her words ate away at  The ink man ,  so odd and unlikely but able to stir waves of anxiety.

“Sammy?”  Henry’s voice was soft in the immense room. “Have you… thought about what she’s said? Before now?”

“I have, my little sheep.” He sighed and tapped out a waltz with one hand. “I… don’t know what we’d do, if this was how I’d be stuck on the other side.”

“If this place is like  this because of Joey, who  says you’ll be like this outside?”

Sammy frowned, brows pinched. “How do we _know_ Joey’s fully controlling this place? Mm? How are we to know there _is_ a future out there.” He shook his head and an annoyed smirk pulled at his lips. The tapping hand ran over his scalp. “My god. We could stop all of this and go free, and the second I’m on the surface I’d be a-a puddle of ink!” Dead and gone, all this work wasted just to die under the sunlight. “Never even crossed my mind! Then what? Keep me in a jar?”

Henry’s heart pounded and anxiety dug claws into his lungs, climbing his rib cage like rungs of a ladder. “Sammy, we don’t-”

The musician snapped with balled fists, snarling with glowing teeth. “Exactly!” The sharpness of his humanity leaped out and struck. “We know nothing about this place! I’ve been trapped here for decades and I still can’t figure half of this out! What happens if freedom opens her arms and everyone but _you_ end up dead? You come back fine here, but what if it catches up to you when we get out?”

The bubble of anxiety burst and so did  the threads of  Henry’ s  tightly drawn calm . “ I don’t know! D o you wanna stay here?” The cartoonist  snapped back. 

Sammy froze and blinked while he drew back. “I never said-”

“What choices _are_ there, Sammy?” The frustration pressed a hot lump into his throat and forced a hand through auburn hair. The exhausted man drew in a breath and didn’t look up. “What else _is_ there? You’re only now saying that this… may not even be worth it? That this isn’t enough? Well, what is enough? I’m sorry I don’t have the answers!” He blinked his blurring eyes, but it did little to clear them. “Even if you’re stuck this way, I’d-” But the cartoonist clamped his mouth shut and walked away for the next lever. So much for having faith in him. 

He didn’t hear Sammy following him into the room on the right. He took the chance alone to push up his glasses and dry his eyes with the back of his arm.  Pulling the lever with that same arm,  he adjusted his glasses to sit right. Just…  _ press on. _ He had to keep pressing on even if-

Movement at the opening. Sammy stood at his full height. The light hid his expression save for the burning, amber eyes pinned on Henry.

The cartoonist swallowed. “Let’s go.”

Sammy did nothing.

Shaking his head a tad, Henry stared pointedly beyond the ink man and walked on. “Come on, we can’t keep stalling.”

But the ink man hummed lowly and placed both hands to the frame of the doorway, not looking away from Henry.

“Sammy,  we -”

“I’m sorry.”  Short and panicked, but deeply earnest. H e  _ needed _ Henry to hear it with nothing in their way. He had to be clear, even if his voice was  frail and his heart was sinking. He had hurt Henry and by god he wasn’t going to just move past it without trying to  fix it!

“ It’s fine.”

A head shake, and the ink man’s left hand grasped a shoulder. “It’s  _ not _ fine.”

“Sammy, it’s okay, let’s just-” But his voice was small and brittle, then Sammy had him in a hug that said as much ‘I’m sorry’ as it did ‘Please listen to me’. In the dark, the cartoonist’s face crumpled, and he hugged back. A funny sliver of him noted  _ he _ was usually comforting  Sammy . He  sighed and propped his chin o n  an  inked shoulder, let ting himself be held.

God. What a mess.

“ That anger a moment ago was all me. No ink or prophecy. That’s why I worry about this so much.  You  may have  said you’d take the  _ real _ me any day,  but if my mind is fully mine  and my body is this… thing, what then? ” His grip tightened and he let some of his weight fall onto the man. “If this is how I’ll be-”

A sniff and a firmer grip. “Then that’s who you’ll be and who I’ll be _with_ , but I’m not letting go, Sammy. You gotta believe that.”

Charcoal fingers carded through faded auburn hair. “But for a minute I didn’t. And… in the past, not believing lead to pain.” He sighed, eyes searching the ceiling. “You work so hard, Henry. So hard I worry about you, but I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“ Snapping’s not what hurt.”

“Still. I am sorry, Henry.”

A nod. “I know.”

“Good.” The ink man pulled back and kissed the closest temple. “But, ah, please don’t put me in a jar.”

The cartoonist let out a wet snort of a laugh and quickly dried his face as they pulled apart. “Just for that you’re going in an old pickle jar.”

Sammy laughed back, amber eyes warm and soft as they left. “At least get me a new jar!”

“Nah. Some old mason jar under the sink.”

“Under the- I deserve a window seat!”

The two men turned and left the room behind.

What a surprise to find Buddy waiting for them in the main room!

“There you are.” Henry smiled at the wolf tiredly. “Any Striker sightings?”

But the wolf  shook his head .  He gestured around the room with furrowed brows and raised palms.

The ink man frowned, gaze firmly on the wolf. “Buddy, where’s Nor-”

There was a screech  up above and Sammy let out a yelp, ax e pulled from  its place at his hip  as he spun . 

His wide-eye d terror fell to a deep scowl as Norman  waved from  a spot on the rails behind the group. Hidden out of sight until the right moment . The ink man could have sworn the amalgam was laughing at him!

Buddy shook with silent laughter, and Henry’s confused squint faded to a halfway-annoyed smile. “Jeez. You got us good.” To be fair, his heart rate went up like hell when Norman screeched. He couldn’t imagine what Sammy’s heart was doing.

The ink man growled and stomped a boot. “ Ugh! Unbelievable !”

Norman didn’t seem to care about the scolding, but Buddy at least looked a little guilty.

“Good lord, I almost killed you!” He hadn’t even come close to killing anyone just then, but  the m ore Norman laughed the less angry he felt. “You liked  pranks , Norman, but really?”

Henry chuckled, failing to keep a straight face anymore. The sheer indignation on Sammy’s face was what did it! “Y-you gotta admit, it was a little funny. You jumped a whole foot!”

A huff. “Oh, I see how it is. Am I a joke to you?”

“No, but… you _do_ make me smile.”

The ink man blustered and holstered his axe with an exaggerated frown. “I’m a clown, then. Fantastic.” Gold eyes narrowed, but the frown twitched back into a sardonic smile.

Buddy was bouncing on his feet in excitement, and it wasn’t from the prank. He waved a gloved hand their way, beaming.

“What’s up?” Henry asked with a soft smile.

The wolf held his arms out to Norman as if presenting an unveiled work of art. Norman, however, growled and brought a cable around from behind his back.

He… had the Striker, and it didn’t look at all happy about being tied up.

“Norman!” Sammy gaped.

The Projectionist nodded and held the clone further away from his body as it wriggled in rage. Its top teeth chattered quietly and its good eye darted around the room. Norman made his way down the stairs, reels ticking slowly.

“Did it bite you?”

A nod, and a sharp shake of the creature wrapped in cables.

Henry stared, then pulled his seeing tool from his back pocket. “Norman? Turn the clone so I can give it a good look over.”

The amalgam complied, opting to hold the angry critter by a foot.

“Allison said that the Piper clone had a paintbrush, so maybe…” He walked in a slow circle, pausing when the glass landed at the clone’s back. “Sammy, that lost one and the Striker have matching markings.”

“Fantastic!” He clapped his hands together. “What do we do with this information?”

“Maybe… we have to get them together? In the same room?”

The ink man looked behind him to where the lost one had been. “Well, she’s not going anywhere, anyway.” He waved Norman over. “Bring that thing over here. I ha ve a plan! ”

/

O kay. Nobody said the plan was  _ good _ .

But Sammy had excellent grip strength, having taken the angry clone by the arms and holding it out to the lost one. “Does this ring any bells?”

“I’ll ring  _ your _ bell if ya don’t leave me alone.”

Sammy frowned with a low grumble. “Henry, I did  _ not _ think this through.”

The cartoonist rubbed a hand through his hair with a sigh. “You’re telling me.”

Buddy was glad to have stayed out of the room. Norman was glad to guard the door in case something went wrong. Could he hear, he’d be laughing at the two men and their failed idea.

The clone writhed angrily, snapping its head teeth at the recoiling ink man. Said ink man held the clone further away from his body.  “ Maybe if you  hold the -”

“No way in hell am I touching that thing.” She snarled from the corner she’d been backed into.

“ Really?” Sammy let go of the clone’s bad arm  and flung  the poor thing her way,  then lunged for the handle to shut the cage in a fluid, frantic jolt. His toss landed true and sent them both to the ground with a jumble of limbs and shouting.

Henry pushed up his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose with an unhappy groan.

The clone stood on shaky legs,  g ood eye darting around as the teeth on its head chomped air. 

The lost one stood as well and growled. “Open the goddamn door.”

“Not until we figure something out.”  Sammy said.

She pointed with a four-fingered hand.  “You  two ain’t figuring out shit!”

The clone growled in what could have been agreement,  teeth slowed but still chattering away . Two stubborn mules bent on not getting killed  by the other, having a hell of a standoff with the ink man and cartoonist . 

“ She’s right. We don’t know what we’re doing with this, do we?” He nry asked mostly to himself.

Sammy’s eyes narrowed, the gears in his head working as he tried to parse out what was missing from this puzzle before him.  They were the missing piece to each other, so… what did they need? “We… need a link.”

“ Link?”

“Two pieces of a whole… but what can bring them together?”

He nry glanced at the Lacie tape and slowly reached for the play button. “Well… this is worth a shot .”

The surly woman’s voice filled the space, and the two in the cage stopped  moving  altogether. 

The clone blinked, tilting its head a little.

The lost one did a similar motion with a  flinch. Her eyes flickered, and she lay a hand over her stomach.  Inked fingers pressed at the pained spot in confusion, before her head turned to the clone now flexing a hand her way. “... _ ulcer _ . What’s… who?” She blinked and shook her head, eyes wide as saucers.

The clone took a step forward, sewn mouth almost smiling up at her.  It patted its own stomach the same way  she had .

The lost one reached out  her hand, carefully touched the clone and-

_Splat!_

Henry’s jaw fell open. The moment the two parts  _ willingly _ touched, they collapsed into a puddle!

The ink man blinked as the tape behind him clicked off.

Movement from the puddle, starting as a faint ripple  before a silky, black body curled upwards from the ink, the puddle shrinking as more emerged.  An arch of a back rose, followed by blackened limbs that ended with the lost one propped precariously on elbows and knees. Some parts of her flicked gold and went back to black.

The lost one reached out with a five-fingered hand and gripped the lattice front to pull up onto shaky feet.  She heaved a couple breaths and turned to stare at the men outside of the cage.  “Guess you boneheads got something right.  Now, how’s about you open that door?”

Sammy grinned and pulled the lever. “ Gladly .”

The gate lifted to reveal the lost one with what could only be an irritated smirk on her stringy face. “You’re lucky that stupid shit worked, y’know.”

The cartoonist nodded. “Yeah. Do you want to come with us? We have to get to the lost harbor.”

Her brows pinched with a slow shake of her head. “Not going that way. I… gotta find someone.”

“Who?”

She could only shrug. “Dunno, but he’s important to  _ me _ . I got the brains back to figure it  out , so… y’all have fun throwin’ shit around.” She waved and headed out of the room at a jog,  leaving a surprised Buddy and Norman in her wake as they parted from the entry.

Sammy harrumphed with arms crossed. “Not even a thank you.”

“At least she’s not swearing at us anymore?”

“True, my little sheep.”

\


	27. Vingt-sept

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifted.

**Gifted** **.**

\

After being stuck on Bertrum _twice_ now, Henry could confirm that he was never setting foot on another octopus ride so long as he could say no.

And he _would_ say no, even if it was funny after it was over.

The good news? He got a good look at the giant head and found that it did in fact have a marking! A balloon, of all things, smack in the middle of his forehead. If that was all there was for the fragments, then this new task of putting them together may not be so difficult. It beat gathering hearts and turning gears.

Then... there was Bendy.

One thing to keep in mind was Bendy’s changed behavior since his confrontation with Norman some loops back. Norman made it his duty to follow Henry to the lower switches. Not like Sammy or Buddy would fare better against the angry ink demon.

If Henry went to get the switches down below and Norman stayed nearby? Bendy would show up and grumble at the man, staring into the booth and  hissing half-proper words while Norman would either back off or fight back, coming away alive either way,  even if he got laid out . If Norman went to get the switches instead of Henry? No change, just… Bendy growling and wandering off.

This time?

Well, Henry was sure he had been stuck in a booth longer than this. But the reason was new.

The ink demon had punched Norman’s lights out, as usual, then plopped himself in front of the booth door.  Not usual . It  breathed a  low rumble at each exhale, but nothing else.  It didn’t twitch, moan, writhe or scream. It held a sit-in protest of sorts . Norman was either down for the count, dead, or faking  until  the ink demon went away . 

And with Henry trapped in the booth by ink demon backside? He didn’t know which.

The cartoonist let his head fall back against the booth wall with a slow exhale. Good thing that Sammy wasn’t here; despite being a protective cushion when they had to double up in the booths, he had a feeling the poor guy would melt down or snap completely if he was stuck in here with Henry while trapped by his previous lord.

But ten minutes was long enough.  Sammy could still sense Bendy when close, but was he in the right range to sense it? He’d have shown up by now… or he was too scared to move. Since he couldn’t count on Sammy for help right now, and  Norman wasn’t awake? “Bendy.” he whispered into the damp air of the booth.  It had all the force of a puff of dandelion seeds.

The demon did nothing.

“Bendy.” Henry tried again, voice stronger now as he stood and gave the door a little kick. “You need to move.” The door gave a little, but only as much as the inky body holding it shut would allow.

The demon jolted back into view as it hopped to its feet. It stumbled forward, gloved hand held in a tight fist, head swinging about to find the thing that startled it. It turned its face to the booth and leaned in until its head pressed to the slot. How could it see without eyes?

The man swallowed. “Bendy.”

The demon pulled back a bit, head tilting curiously.

“Do you…  know what’s  going on ?”

It rumbled lowly and  stepped back from the booth slot.

The cartoonist braved getting closer to the slot, only able to see out  enough to get a great look at Bendy’s  mangled  neck and some periphery of mouth and chest.  “ Do you…” What was the point in talking to this thing when all it did was growl and attack?  But… if that’s all it did, why did it change its pattern?  Why was it standing still, letting him speak, if all it did was want him dead? “Do you  want to  get out of this  place ?”

The ink demon sighed, forehead thumping against the door, which made Henry flinch but not back away. Its gloved hand drummed slowly on the roof of the booth. While its smile was fixed as ever, its slumped shoulders said it wasn’t having any kind of good time.

“I don’t know if what I’m saying’ll make sense… but.” He leaned a little closer to the slot, hazel eyes wide and fixed on the clashing cartoon grin among the muck. “I am trying to free everyone. Everyone means you, too.”

It let out a  hum .

“But I can’t help you if you don’t-”

The demon warbled slowly, mouth vibrating as it rose tall, giving a slow headshake. Like it had before, it let out two rough grunts, and slunk slowly out of sight at last.

Henry stayed standing, sweat prickling his neck and back as the ink demon and its markers of being close faded away. A sharp exhale and he hung his head. How was he supposed to figure this out if the ink demon couldn’t talk?

There was a sharp series of knocks to the booth door and he lifted his head. The familiar light of Norman’s projector filled Henry’s vision.

He winced. “Ah, Norman, lights.”

The light dimmed as the Projectionist pulled the door to the booth open.

The cartoonist stepped out of the booth and stretched, his back giving a horribly loud crackling noise. Standing hunched over like that hurt like hell after a minute, and he’d been stuck that way for three. “How long have you been awake?”

A grumble of static followed by Norman holding his hands up in a circle, index fingers raised. Sign for Bendy, that part was obvious. Then a rectangle made of hands that framed Norman’s light.

“So… since Bendy looked in at me.” He nodded and smiled tightly up at the amalgam. “You’re good at playing dead, Norm.”

The Projectionist patted Henry’s head and hummed static.

A swat and the hand was gone. “Let’s get back to Sammy and Buddy. I got a feeling Sammy’s not having a good time.”

Norman gave a nod and loped over to the haunted house, Henry following close behind.

He came around the corner to spot Sammy and Buddy at the opened haunted house; the wolf patting Sammy’s back with wide eyes. The ink man had his arms crossed over his chest, amber eyes narrowed and mouth drawn tight. Both their heads snapped up to see he and Norman come into sight.

Buddy perked immediately and pointed their way before sprinting over. Sammy followed and made a beeline for Henry.

“We’re g-oof!” The hug knocked the breath clear out of him, but the man returned it.

The ink man holding Henry lowered his voice, quiet and cold. “He was so close. He was near for so long and I couldn't help you. If I came he’d have killed me, I know it.” Sammy’s grip remained tight.

“It’s okay. He acted different. More than before.”

“Tell me.”

“He… I think he fell asleep? But, when I talked to him, told him I was trying to help everyone, and he was part of everyone, he shook his head at me and left.” His brows lowered. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that, but he hasn’t actively tried to hurt me for so many loops. But what if he wants freedom as much as everyone else here?”

“Oh no. Henry, that can’t be.”

“Why not? What’s wrong?” He asked, pulling away to see Sammy’s face.

Sammy shook his head a little, frowning. “Henry, he… Bendy has no soul.”

“What?”

“I can’t believe we haven’t talked about this… That’s the _reason_ he’s so different from other creations from the machine. Feared and hated because there is no soul to bargain with. Everyone trapped here has a soul, but… not him.”

The implications grasped his heart and dragged it to his shoes. “We can’t… save him?”

“I… I don’t honestly know.  I should be  delighted that he’s deviating, but…” His face grew pinched and his left hand tapped out a nervous tango. “But he’s so different from everyone else down here.” Amber eyes glowed as they glanced to Henry. “I wish I knew what that means.  The more of me that comes back, the less I remember of how this place  _ works _ . ”

Henry swallowed. “We’ll figure it out. We’ve figured everything else out so far.”

A nod. “You’re right, my little-”

“Henry? Sammy?” A woman’s voice called out from deep down the track and past the shut doors. “Are you out there?”

“Allison?” Henry called back, stepping onto the platform and looking down the track. He frowned to himself. He couldn’t see anything but the shut doors and darkness.

“Henry! We’re coming to _you_ this time! Tom has one of the clones!”

He glanced over his shoulder at Sammy to find Norman approaching with a tilted projector. He looked back to the tunnel and called out, “Which one?”

“Uh… you’ll see! I don’t know the names like you do!”

He looked over at the approaching ink man with a shrug. “She’s not wrong.”

Sammy managed a tired smile. “This should be fun- Norman, are you kidding?” Curiosity turned confusion.

Norman stepped onto the track and pulled the doors open, his light shining into the dark tunnel. He propped the right door open with his back, waiting for the new party to come into view.

Buddy cocked his head and smiled. Nobody liked the dark, save for Norman. The more he and Norman worked together, the more Norman seemed to glean that no one could see the studio how he did. He used his light to help more than harm as time went on.

Allison came through the doors first, her cutlass out and ready. She managed a sheepish smile at the Projectionist as she sheathed it. “Thanks for the light.”

Tom came in soon after, holding a rope with an angry clone on the other end. Its head swung from a rope tied to a pole, like an angry fishing lure. He set it on the ground with a thud and a scowl.

The cartoonist raised his brows and blinked, before reaching behind him for the seeing tool. “Fisher. Okay.” The seeing tool lifted to the Fisher, framing it. The thing’s head swung and chattered, legs flailing uselessly on the ground. A glint of gold got his attention. A circle of gold with a scraggly dollar sign in the middle. “It’s… a coin?” His brows furrowed then lifted, turning to Sammy. “It’s a circle on the right temple. The lost one from the vents.”

The musician’s jaw fell open. “Grant.” Sammy sighed and rubbed his eyes with finger and thumb. “This is Grant, it’s… just cruel.”

Allison’s frown tugged into concern. “Who is Grant?”

Pulling his hand away, the ink man pointed to the Fisher  with a pinched brow . “Grant was the man in charge of money for this place before it became corrupted. I, ah… when  _ we _ were human. He had hung himself in his office after Joey’s secret spending took out a sizeable chunk of money. I’d been who found him.”  Well, him and another. Funny, he hadn’t really thought about that irritating janitor since Norman showed him some memories.  Where was Wally in all this? But, the clone. “Someone had a sick sense of humor.”

The horned woman gasped and raised a thin hand to her mouth. She shut her mouth and closed her hand into a fist, eyes downcast. “That _is_ cruel.”

“ Yes , but it means that we can unite fragment and soul. Well, if we can get the clone into the vent at all.”  Sammy smirked. “And if it doesn’t run off.”

The clone took a chance to run, forgetting the bound arms and short leash. Tom grumbled and reeled the clone back to him, nudging it with a foot when it got close to biting his knee. It fell over ad kicked its legs uselessly once more.

Allison frowned. “Even tied up, it fights back.” Her wide eyes turned back to the two men. “You said you got the Piper and its lost one together? How?”

Henry lay a hand to Sammy’s arm. “We figured out that the clone and the lost one have to willingly touch for it to work. So, we need the clone, lost one, and a… tape.” Right! “Buddy?”

The wolf perked from where he stood next to Norman. He held the cable around his wrist in that same hand.

Henry grimaced. “Do you know where to find Grant’s tape? It’s on level nine in that boarded up room.”

The wolf blinked and gave a slow nod. He pointed to Henry and then himself. Then he made a mocking mouth with his free hand with a tilt of his head.

“I _do_ want you to get the tape, but only if you’re up for it.”

Buddy flashed a thumbs up and headed the way he and Norman had come. Norman happily lumbered behind.

“Why do we need a tape, Henry?” Allison asked.

“It jogs a memory for the clone and lost one to remember.”

“How did you even figure this out?”

The musician answered for him. “There was a lost one in an alcove down the stairs. She had a matching marking to the clone.” Sammy tilted his head back and smirked. “I threw the clone at her.”

Allison turned with an incredulous stare. “You  _ threw _ it? Why?”  Over her shoulder, Tom gave Sammy the most disapproving look he could.

The ink man shrugged, smirking. “Not much else to do! The lost one refused to cooperate. Had to lock her in there with it while Henry played the tape!”

She gaped. “You’re crazy.”

“Crazy works.” And it was sometimes your only option. Especially if Joey Drew was involved.

“If it shows up next loop, then check it for markings. If it doesn’t show up? Then it worked.”

“I hope it worked. I’d really rather not throw that snappy thing again.”

The cartoonist grinned. “Yeah, well, we still have two clones, the hand and Bertie to figure out.”

Sammy snorted a laugh. “Fantastic!”

“Who’s… Bertie?”

Right! They had to get her up to speed. “Bertie is, was, Bertrum Piedmont. We _think_ he’s like the giant hand? We’re just… not sure how to find his lost one. Or how to get a lost one to Bendy-Land.”

The horned woman cocked a brow. “You mean Bendy-Hell?”

“Wait, did you repaint the sign?”

She shook her head before shooting Sammy a look. “I know _I_ never wrote that.”

Sammy scoffed. “Don’t look at me. We all write on the walls, but I don’t like heights!”

Henry blinked. “You don’t?”

“I… I don’t trust ladders . But! The clone.”  He held up a hand with a raised finger. “ Soon as Buddy and Norman get back, we can… figure out part two of this. ” A flicker of a question danced cross his thoughts. “So… how did you two catch this thing? Norman caught the Striker, but how did you get this one?  It’s… squirmy. ”

The wolf and horned woman looked at one another, and Allison sighed. “We didn’t. The clone was tied up and sitting on a crate  in the haunted house room . Someone set it there, knowing we would find it.”

“Susie,” Sammy said without hesitation. “She tipped Henry and I off about the Striker clone earlier.  It’s how we even knew to look for it. ”

“Susie is-” The horned woman’s dark mouth turned sharp scowl. “Is  _ that _ the look alike that I have to stab in the back half the time I meet up with you two?”

“Yes.” Henry answered bluntly. “She’s also who turned Buddy into a brute.”

“I’ve… never seen him turned into one.  You’ve told me, but I’ve never been able to see it. ”  I t was hard to believe anyone would want to hurt the friendly creature… though, considering her companion, she  _ might _ have been biased.

The cartoonist nodded. “Consider yourself lucky.” He ran a hand through his hair and shot her a pained smile. “The hard part now is how to get the Fisher into the vent so it can join Grant.”

“Getting the tape’s _not_ the hard part?”

“Grant is on the other side of a grate. At an angle.” He blinked. “It’s cramped and it won’t be easy. But the tape first. We can’t do anything without-”

The hot sepia of Norman’s light splashed against the wall as the two of them came back. Norm at a steady gait, Buddy at full tilt.

Henry frowned. “Did you get lost?”

A sharp head shake from the smiling wolf as he pulled a tape recorder from his overall pocket. He hit play with a bright smile.

**"** _They say the real problem with Mr. Drew is that he never actually tells us little people anything.-_ **"** He hit the stop button before it could fully play.

Sammy leaned closer. “Where’d you get that? Was it where it should have been?”

Henry squinted an eye. “That can’t be right. It’d take thirty minutes or more to get there and back. They were gone maybe five minutes.” He fixed the wolf with a worried frown. “Where was this tape?”

Buddy held up a hand near his shoulder and one further out, the one extended out, cupped like it was beneath something. He jerked a couple times and lowered his arms.

“ It was… on the  shooter game?”

An excited nod and the wolf thrust the tape into Henry’s hands before giving a thumbs up.

But… how? And why? “Sammy. Do you think Susie did this, too?”

“... maybe.” He frowned. “But best to not look a gift horse in the mouth, my little sheep.”

Allison’s quiet cough drew their attention. “So now what? The lost one in the vent?”

Sammy nodded. “I have a plan.” His grin grew as his gold gaze landed on the clone that had given up kicking and merely wiggled. “But we’re going to need more rope.”

The horned woman reached behind her back and tossed the coil to him with a soft smile. “It pays to carry a rope.”

His grin glowed as he clapped his hands together. “Fantastic. Come along.”

/

If anyone but Sammy suggested he do this, Henry would have turned them down flat.

But Sammy _had_ suggested it, so here he was, on his belly in the vent, crawling backwards to find Grant.

At least he had a pipe to knock the vent out with. But having a pipe, the tape, and the seeing tool in a cramped vent crawling backwards with his left hand tied to the end of a rope?

How the hell did Sammy create this plan? It was almost as bad as crawling through trenches.

Almost. Not as bad as being flung into a pipe wall. How long ago was that?

Henry shimmied as far back as he could before beating the vent open. Grant didn’t slow his pattern of head-bashing. Scooting further back, the cartoonist grunted as the tape pulled free and set to one side. Then he turned on his side and pulled the rope with both hands. The clone chattering in rage drew close, and once it was in arms range? Henry gave it a push into the room and hit play.

**"** _They say the real problem with Mr. Drew is that he never actually tells us little people anything. Oh sure, according to him there's always big stuff coming, adventure and fame and the like. But I'm the guy, see, who has to make sure our budgets don't go all out of whack just cause genius upstairs went out and got himself another idea. Speaking of which, and this is top secret, apparently Mr. Drew has another large project in mind now, and it ain't gonna be cheap._ **"**

The clone fell quiet, a good break from its furious jabbering.

In Henry’s sight, the lost one finally, after hundreds of blows, paused.  He blinked and looked down. “Cheap… huh.” He blinked  again  and bent out of view.

A splattering, and Henry held his breath.

It took a minute, but it happened. The lost one stood, rapping a fist to his right temple with a wince. “Thanks for that, but I lost count.”

Henry blinked. “Count of what?”

“Head bangs.”

The cartoonist stared in shock. “You counted?”

“I know numbers, mister… Not much else to do but count or cry.” The lost one- Grant. Grant blinked and pointed his way. “Hell are you doing in there? Who even are you?”

“My name is Henry. Your name is Grant.”

“I know me, but you? You, uh, might wanna get outta that vent.” Grant drawled with a squint. “There’s a demon around here that hates too much noise.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Grant.” Henry smiled and pointed behind him. “There’s a lot of lost ones in the lounge. I’ll get out of your way if you wanna join up?”

“Sounds good. Oh, and uh… thanks again. You be safe out there.”

“You too.” Henry gathered the remaining items and crawled out to the vent exit. He heard Grant head out behind him and smiled. “Sammy?”

“Yes?”

“Your plan worked!”

“I knew it would!”

Allison chuckled. “He’s been shaking like a leaf the whole time!”

“I have not!”

Henry ducked his head and laughed softly. What a wonderful group of people to have in hell.

\


	28. Vingt-huit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coffee and conversation.

**Coffee and** **conversation** **.**

/

Allison’s loops started with heating a can on soup for herself and Tom. Then either she or Tom would gather supplies. It fluctuated, which was another thing going on the wall.

The wall, so slowly taken over with theories and ideas, doodles and scratched out thoughts. A canvas slowly filling with grasps at hope.

Tom never wrote on the walls. He never showed interest in it.

But he would draw. Sometimes. Rarely. The most he’d done was a detailed drawing of his mechanical arm to teach Allison how to repair it.

After that? Well. He might add a gear or something. Sometimes a lever.

But today? Today was different.

Allison started her day with getting up from her cot and finding Tom not in his across from her. She stretched her arms over her head and felt a faint growl in her gut. Huh… it wasn’t like Tom never made soup before. It’d be nice to wake up to hot food.

As she turned her feet to the floor and stood, she heard the familiar scrape of a damaged pen against rough tiles. Her sound, but not coming from her hand.

“Tom?” She stepped into the room to find him.

The one-armed wolf was sitting on the stool and scribbling furiously at a blank patch of wall, bigger than anything he’d done before. Details to rival schematics showed none other than the ink machine itself. Lines jutted from parts only for gibberish to fill where words and names were meant to go.

He turned to look her way, then gestured with his head to the drawing. When she didn’t get closer, he waved with his mechanical arm for her.

Allison’s wide eyes marveled at his work. She knew he could draw, but this? A perfect replica of the ink machine that always lowered from above to settle above Bendy’s lair. “Tom, this is amazing.” The awe seeped into her words, and she felt his eyes on her.

He shrugged and pointed with the mechanical hand at the wall, then wrung the same fist.

She shook her head a little, earning a frown.

Tom poured out a puddle of normal ink from the small well on the desk into his gloved hand. Watching Allison intently, he slammed the inked palm to the drawing of the ink machine.

Thin hands raised in alarm. “Tom, wait-” But she didn’t finish.

The wolf smeared his inked hand over the machine in an X over and over until barely anything of the machine was left to be seen underneath. His glove blackened and dripping, he lifted the mechanical hand and wrung it again, eyes searching her face.

“You… you’re saying that we need to destroy the machine.” Not a question of meaning, but confirmation of understanding. “Where’d you get that idea from?”

The wolf grumbled and held up his hands like a set of glasses.

“... Henry? You… is this about what he saw in the river?”

He nodded once. The pie-cut eyes usually fixed in a scowl stared into her own wide ones. Black, featureless, but so expressive. The mechanical hand rested on her shoulder, the fingers drumming slowly against her bare flesh. He blinked and slid the cool hand gently upwards until he was cupping her cheek.

The gesture so familiar and long-thought lost to the ink. He’d done this when they were human and whole, muscular hand holding her, cradling her face with a rare, honestly pleased smile... Allison’s lower lip trembled and she bit it gently. Just to keep herself calm and her hopes from dashing to bits. The horned woman cleared her throat and smiled softly. Hope floated in her chest as she asked, “Tom. How much do you remember? Of us? Of… me?”

He held up his left hand, cold and rigid. He reached for her left hand to hold before tapping her ring finger. Making a fist to lie in her upturned palm, he stared at her calmly, brows low.

Wide eyes trailed down to the metal fist in her hand, heavy and cold but familiar as anything else in this place. The four-fingered hand work by some odd magic, be it ink or sheer willpower. She’d worked on it to keep it functional, repaired it when it seized up or fell limp, knew every wire and wingnut by heart…

But she wished now that she’d paid closer attention to the armor. His hand didn’t have a ring finger, but the middle finger was close enough. At the base of its metal digit, close to the joint, was a thin, polished strip of metal. Though brighter than the rest of the hand, the strip had nicks and wear that shown it had been there for quite a long time.

Tears welled in her eyes and a thin hand covered her mouth as it sunk in.

Her sweet, stern wolf had known for far, far longer than she had. Tom, trapped in this animated body that kept him muted and unable to write a single word. Whatever changed inside of him had been enough to let him loose and show her the truth.

“Tom…” Her voice cracked, and she covered her mouth to stifle her sobs. “Oh, god.” She’d been afraid of nothing. For _nothing_.

But the wolf sighed and wrapped her in a hug, swaying on his feet to calm her as she crumbled in his arms.

\

“So, we have a balloon for Bertrum, which narrows down…” Henry ran a hand through his hair. “Not much. Who would have a paintbrush or coffee mug?”

“Beats me, little sheep.”

Loop three-hundred and twenty-nine was off to a quiet start, it seemed. They’d opted not to stand and chat, taking the piano bench for a change of pace.

“Well, at least we know the paintbrush belongs to a lost one that bangs its head.” He pulled the seeing tool from his back pocket and gave it a once-over. “Wanna know something funny?”

“Yes.”

A huff of a chuckle. “I was thinking you might have something to do with the hand.”

The musician quirked a brow. “Oh, really?”

“You had a green mug on your piano half the time I saw you. But the markings don’t match up. No mug on you.”

“I brought it from home. Same as the banjo. They’re mine.” He frowned at his lap, lips pursed. “All the mugs provided here were an ugly tan. Green meant no one could take it and put their mouth on it.”

Henry made a mental note to designate a few mugs strictly for Sammy when they got out. “You’ll have plenty of mugs to pick from with me.”

“Oh, you’re different.” He waved. “I _like_ you. You could lick my banjo and I wouldn’t be mad.” He paused and turned to the grinning cartoonist next to him. “I take that back. Do not lick my banjo.”

Henry couldn't fight the laugh that bubbled up. “I’m not gonna lick the banjo!”

“Good.” He pointed to the seeing tool. “Mind if I get a look with that?”

“Have at.”

Sammy took the tool and held it up. The room had no changes, but he spied the tape by the recording booth. “Hmm. Who’s that for?”

“What?”

“That tape?” He pointed, lowering the tool. “Who’s it for?”

“Susie.” Henry grimaced.

“Ah.” He knew playing anything from her would get him nowhere. They were so deep into the path that anything he remembered of Susie wouldn’t help. Still, the prickling anxiety that raked his spine was hard to ignore. “Oh. This is… Henry?” He glanced back Henry’s way. “I might have something.” He gestured to his head. Words grew harder when a memory emerged.

“A flashback?”

“Yes. But it doesn’t, ah, feel like the ones that knock me down.”

The cartoonist made his way over, standing at the ink mans side. “Don’t worry. We’ll handle this like before.”

“Good.” But this one felt less like a massive attack on his past behavior and closer to being-

“ _-awake there, Lawrence?”_

_  
The blond lifted his head from his hand, pen sticking from his mouth. He plucked it free and frowned at the older lyricist. “Barely. Haven’t had coffee yet.”  
_

“ _Haven’t?” Jack poured a steaming mug for himself from the thermos on the counter. “Good thing there’s a fresh pot behind me.”  
_

_Sammy sighed and tapped the pen in a quadrille. “I’ll get a cup later. No one’s here yet. Can’t have a cup of coffee only to have it’s magic run out before anyone else starts.”  
_

“ _You could always drink more than one cup? Or get a bigger mug?” The portly man suggested with a smirk.  
_

“ _I’m already a jittery mess on my best days. A bigger mug might kill me.” He tapped the sheet music with a curled fist. “But by all means, let’s scare the fresh faces stuck working here.” He paused and stifled a yawn. “Not like my sleep-deprived self can muster up a shout at this point in the day.”  
_

_The mustachioed man scowled. “You slept here?”  
_

“ _Couldn’t leave until this got done. Guess what’s still not done?”  
_

“ _Gonna kill your back doin’ that.”  
_

_Sammy blinked in confusion. “I didn’t sleep here at the break table, I slept on a cot in my office.”  
_

“ _Jesus, Sam, you’re crazy.”  
_

_A razor sharp smile that didn’t startle Jack at all. “Says the man hiding in the sewers.” His gaze fell to the thermos under Jack’s arm. “So much for a fresh pot, then.”  
_

“ _This is mine, Sam. The fresh stuff is behind me.” He shook his head at the blond as he passed. “See you in the music room.”  
_

“ _Might be a bit. These stupid cartoon songs don’t write themselves, you know.” Good as Jack was to talk to, the sheet music came first. Tall order for the upcoming toon. Something about a circus come to town. Bendy on a trapeze, another song for Alice Angel… Sammy rubbed tired eyes and moaned. This alone would take him at least the rest of the week to get to a suitable first draft, and the work for the current toon was still underway.  
_

_Just… finish one song, then coffee. Taking a breath and taking the pen back into his mouth, Sammy bit down on the wood of the body, tongue grazing the end. A sharp tang of iron and chemicals lanced his tongue. Aw, god in heaven! The nib was in his mouth! He spat the pen to the floor and groaned at the taste of ink that glazed his mouth. It was only a drop! How had it spread so quickly? The blond gagged, the blot of black seeping into his gums and between his teeth. A chemical, spicy patina that burned and made him gag.  
_

_He sneered at the offending pen and kicked it under the table. Maybe coffee would get the taste out of his mouth. He reached for the pot-_

-and froze, hand still outstretched, reaching for air. Sammy blinked. Just a memory. Just… sepia. “I… Henry?”

The man had him by the outstretched arm, peering over his glasses. “What did you remember?”

“I… did I ever tell you how the ink got to me?”

“No.”

The ink man scowled at the seeing tool in his other hand, lowering the outstretched one to focus more on the device. Its bulbs flickered, the glass glowing faintly in gold. “It was an _accident_. I stuck the wrong end of a pen in my mouth.” His smile grew taught and pained. “One mistake, and my life was over in a few months. That’s how long it took! A few months!”

“Any clue why this is coming up now?”

A head shake. “No. No idea. I… Jack had made a pot of coffee, and-” His head snapped up to Henry with bright eyes. “We’d been talking about coffee mugs. You don’t think?”

Henry tugged Sammy to the tunnel. “If it’s Jack, we’re gonna have to figure out how to get him to the boats.”

“I could get a bucket?”

“Would he even fit?”

“Irrelevant. Could we lift him?”

Henry stopped at the mouth of the tunnel. “Jack?” He called quietly. He didn’t want to startle the poor guy. No hat bobbed in the dark ahead. “Jack-”

Sammy grabbed the boards and started ripping them away.

“Sammy, that-” But the movement at the end of the tunnel caught his attention. “Okay. There he is, don’t-” He grabbed Sammy’s arm as the ink man made to bolt. “Don’t chase him. He’s already unhappy we’re here.”

“I… fine. Right.” When freedom loomed, his self-control waned.

Henry let go. “We just gotta check him first.”

They headed into the sewers.

“I’m kinda shocked I don’t have trench foot by now.”

“Trench foot?”

“Feet kept wet and cold too long kinda… rot off.”

“Good lord.”

“I kept _my_ toes, but I saw a few cases in the field.”

Sammy blinked, lips pursed and brows up. “You were a field medic, right? Why medic?”

“Didn’t wanna hurt anyone.”

The two paused at the crates, searching for a hat floating on the ink.

“Jack?” Sammy called out, but nothing happened. “Jack? We need your help. We’ll go after you help us.”

From behind a crate, Jack slunk out of the dark and paused before the ink man, squinting up at him in utter annoyance.

“Lift your arms for me.” Sammy blinked. “Please.”

The lump glanced at Henry and back at Sammy, before lifting his arms out of the muck. He didn’t really have arms, just mushy flippers.

Lifting the tool, the ink man framed Jack in the odd device and honed in on the small mark on the underside of a flipper. “Henry, he has it.”

“He has the mark?”

Jack gurgled and sank down to be almost flat. Whatever they meant didn’t ease his muddled mind at all.

The ink man squatted down, giving a tight smile. “Okay… Jack. I need you to do me a favor. Down by the docs where the boats are, I need you to go there. You… have something down there you need to see. It’ll help everyone in the long run.”

A squishy head shake.

“Please, Jack.” Sammy rested a hand to the searcher’s shoulder. “Just this once. I need you to leave your tunnel and come to the docks before the village.”

But the lump burbled and flattened himself out, leaving a set of eye holes and a hat to stare blankly upwards.

Sammy grumbled and gave the lump a glare, hand withdrawn. “Jack, we’re trying to help you.”

The lump wasn’t convinced.

“Hey, Jack?”

The lump looked Henry’s way, growling.

“Think of it this way… are you sorry for trying to crush me with those crates?”

A nod, feeble and nervous and searching for a weapon Henry might have hidden.

“Then… consider coming to the docks an apology.”

The lump blinked and gave a slow nod.

“It’ll be awhile before we get there, but just keep checking for us, okay? We’ll wait for you.” Henry gave a soft smile, peering over his glasses.

Jack rose and fell in a sigh, and gave a melted thumbs up before flattening completely and zipping out of sight. His hat went with him like a felted shark fin.

The musician shut his mouth. “How are you able to do that? Just… get people to follow without yelling?”

Henry chuckled. “I’m a dad. Negotiation came with that job.”

Sammy blinked. “How many children do you have?”

“Two. Linda had twins.”

Amber eyes went wide. “Twins.” That sounded... tedious. Smiling faintly, the ink man reached over for Jack's tape and tucked it away in an overall pocket.

Henry reached out and grabbed Sammy’s hand, still smiling. “Let’s get Buddy.”

Sammy nodded and followed. “Do you want to spend the night in the hideout?”

“Why?”

A scoff. “You told Jack we’d wait for him, but we don’t want to make him wait too long, do we?”

“Good point. I don’t need a break, do you?”

“We just started!” He grinned at Henry’s backside. “I’m sure Buddy would appreciate catching up to Norman sooner than later.”

/

Seemed Jack and Norman would be waiting a little longer than expected. Buddy wasn’t the hold-up, but the Striker hanging by a rope inside of Heavenly Toys was.

The three of them stared at the angry little monster as it jabbered and kicked.

“Okay. We can safely say Susie’s helping us.”

“Agreed.” Sammy squinted up at the creature. “Though it’s unclear why.”

Buddy watched the clone with a hand to his mouth. His eyes followed the rope up to the ceiling and down to where it had been tied, far off and away, up the stairs. He grunted and patted Henry’s shoulder.

“What is it?”

Buddy pointed to the clone, then the rope. He smiled and took off for the stairs.

“Buddy!” He called out, only to shake his head and take off after him.

The wolf had paused where the rope was tied, bouncing in his boots. But it wasn’t the rope he was excited about. It was what sat underneath it.

“Buddy, you can’t just take off like that.” Henry came to a stop, lungs asking for a break. Running up stairs was never easy.

But the wolf’s excitement couldn’t be ignored as he pointed a gloved hand to the tape player.

Sammy, who’d followed closely behind and stopped himself by grabbing Henry’s shoulder, let go and tilted his head at the wolf. “Well?”

The wolf hit play.

**"** _I don't be seein' what the big deal is. So what if I went and painted some of those Bendy dolls with a crooked smile? That's sure no reason for Mr. Drew to be flyin' off the handle at me. And if he really wants to be so helpful, he could be tellin' me what I'm to be doin' with this warehouse I got full of that angel whatchamacallit. Not a scrap of that mess be a-sellin'! Probably have to melt it all down to be rid of it all._ **"**

Sammy frowned at the tape and turned to find Henry giving him the same look. “Henry, I think we found the paintbrush.”

A low chuckle from above. _“_ _Well done._ _I didn’t think you’d figure it out.”_ Susie cooed from somewhere hidden. _“_ _Seems your little wolf is the smartest of you three._ _Such a good boy, following the obvious path._ _”_

Buddy’s ears fell back, and he fought the urge to shrink. He knew that voice in ways no one should. He tucked the tape into his overalls and ignored the shaking of his hand as he did.

Sammy scowled, snarl lines wrinkling his nose and brow. Fantastic. “What do you want?” He placed himself before Henry, reaching for the axe at his hip.

“ _I want to speak with your new savior._ _We have a lot to go over.”_ The door to the Angel room opened silently. _“_ _Come to me, now._ _Just through the door, Henry.”_ Her voice dropped its soft lilt and sharpness cracked the air. “Just _Henry_.”

The cartoonist sighed and rubbed a hand across his hair. “We’re not gonna get anywhere if I don’t at least hear her out. We both know that.”

The ink man didn’t look convinced.

Henry gave a crooked frown. “Sammy. Look for Allison or Tom. They scout the lower levels. I’ll get to you as soon as I can. We can meet up before Bendy-Land.”

“Why find them?”

“ _They_ saw where the paintbrush lost one was. You’ll do better as a group.”

A small head shake. “I don’t like this.”

“Me neither. But this might be where I get her to join us.”

Sammy’s gold gaze locked with hazel. “Keep the axe with you. Who knows what might happen.” He pulled the axe free and pushed it into Henry’s hands.

The cartoonist pushed it back. “ _I_ don’t stay dead, and you’re-”

“Stronger than I seem, and I’ve seen Allison with her cutlass. We can handle this.” But amber eyes cast a glare at the yawning doorway to the Angel room. “But keep it. For my peace of mind.”

Henry swallowed and nodded. “Okay. Just… be safe.”

_No promises._ “You too, my little sheep.” The ink man turned to Buddy and motioned for him with his hand to follow.

Buddy frowned Henry’s way but followed Sammy closely, the clone grumbling behind him on its leash as it was dragged unceremoniously from the toy room.

Axe adjusted to sit over one shoulder, Henry stepped into the Angel room.

\


	29. Vingt-neuf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One angel speaks, another searches.

**One angel speaks** **,** **another searches.**

/

“Get the door, would you?”

“Not happening,” he deadpanned.

Susie laughed quietly. “Suit yourself. Believe it or not, I’m not interested in harming you.”

He stepped closer to the glass room, the angel framed from behind in light. “You said you wanted to tear me apart to your heart’s delight the first time we met. Heard it hundreds of times, figured nothing had changed.”

“I’m full of surprises.” She blinked and cocked her head back. “That’s close enough, Henry.”

He hadn’t even crossed the halfway point of the room. “Ma’am.”

She sighed, arms folding to rest across her stomach. “Just Susie. There’s no point in that anymore.”

He nodded, axe flipping up to sit with the blade to the false angel. “What is it, then? The point?”

“Mm… why, escaping this place.” Her halo bounced as she shook her head. “I had given up on that endeavor and took the mantle of angel… and I hated it. But you? You really _are_ different. Hope hadn’t existed in this hellhole before you came in.”

“Maybe. But… I want to know what changed your mind.”

She dropped all pretense and scowled. “Listening in, watching you work with the prophet, hearing you bounce ideas about like tennis. Thanks to you, the clones are almost gone. Since you and your false prophet handled them, I can freely walk around my kingdom, no fear of being defiled by their tainted ink.” The melted half of her face twitched. “But tell me, what good is a kingdom without subjects?” She lifted a hand and dully observed the claws that tipped her thin fingers. “The scant lost ones on my side have fled me. You’re no longer run ragged by my prompts. The cracks in this twisted world’s foundation are growing deeper by the day.” Her bright eye flicked from her hand to Henry’s face. “What good is a hollow kingdom?”

“Controlling people was Joey’s thing, and I know you don’t want to be like him.”

“Too late for that, errand boy. This is the most control over my own life I have ever had… and my life isn’t even my own. What life is there for me up there now?”

Henry managed a tired smile. “Things are different. Women have more freedom to do what they want. More than the thirties and forties. Nothing says you can’t try again.”

She scoffed. “I’ve done things you can’t imagine.”

He scowled. “After what you’ve done to Buddy? I can imagine plenty.”

Her gaze slid to the floor, lips pursed. “Maybe… but what _do_ you know about me?” She craned her head back. “I was still alive when I went into the machine, you know.”

He nodded. “Were you tricked?”

She gave a shaky laugh, too calm for the hysteria that growled underneath. “Oh, yes… but some other time.” Susie sighed. “What promise can you give me that will keep me safe from the Ink Demon? He cannot touch me again.”

“Stick with  the Projectionist . He’s already shown us he liked you.”

“The wolf likes _him_ as well.”

Henry shrugged, looking everywhere but at her. “Buddy doesn’t seem to hold a grudge, but I can’t force you.”

“You’re right,” she mumbled as she strode forward. “You can’t.”

Henry blinked. She was getting closer. She was getting _closer_.

“But I’m not a doll trapped in glass cases for display, Henry.”

She’d never _been_ behind the glass. “Not saying you are.” Henry adjusted his axe to sit in both hands, but didn’t waver or budge.

The false angel drew close… and she wasn’t as much a fright as she had been. She barely came up to his chin! But the way she carried herself, good eye piercing him with that stare… A dethroned queen was still a _queen_. Keeping that in mind might be for the best.

She smirked. “Let’s see how brave your prophet is without glass between him and I.”

The man frowned. “You hurt Sammy and I _will_ cut you down.”

Her smirk widened into a tight smile. “I don’t doubt that, errand boy.”  She leaned up on tiptoe and gave a slow blink.  “ I’m only just now  seeing it… but you have freckles.”

He blinked. “How did you miss _that_?” His most prominent feature, missed completely!

She  chuckled lowly . “M y surveillance options have poor quality.”

He  glared over his glasses at her. “You ran straight at me, looking me dead in the face, and you never noticed-”

Her sharp hand raised up to point. “I wanted you dead. Details are just… icing on the cake.” She stepped around him, waving over her shoulder. “You run along. Go play with Sammy.”

He turned to watch her leave. “You’re not coming with me?”

She  smiled dully over  that same shoulder. “ You expect a lady to walk? I know where you’ll be. ” She turned out of sight and was gone.

Henry waited until her footfalls faded and let out a breath he didn’t know he held. That hadn’t lasted as long as he’d expected, and he came out in one piece. The cartoonist considered that a win and headed to the elevators.

\

“You’re saying Susie is helping us?” Allison asked as she eyed the clone jabbering on its rope some feet away. “Not just a theory?”

“It’s true.” Sammy pointed to the clone. “She tied it up in a way to lead us to the tape we needed.” He paused. “Buddy, _please_ tell me you have the tape?”

The wolf smiled and patted his pocket. He turned to Tom and pointed at the clone, shaking the rope a little.

  
Tom grumbled and shook his head, holding up his pipe.

Buddy gave a nod in understanding, then pulled the tape player out to show Sammy. He’d figured that was solid enough proof. He then reeled the clone back to him and wrapped the rope around himself so the creature was strapped to his back.

“Good  idea .” The ink man turned back to Allison. “ And now that we have the clone, I need you to take me to the lost one you saw.”

She nodded. “Level Ten, face in a corner. Lets go.”

The ink man called Buddy over with a curl of his fingers and followed, Tom bringing up the rear. He eye d Allison, who  walked beside him.  She hadn’t changed at all since the last loop.  B ut her eyes, usually bright and darting to find answers and clues, were calmer, darker. Hell, she might have had bags! “ Are you alright?”

“I… I’d rather tell Henry.”

The ink man shrugged. “Very well. But we aren’t meeting until Bendy-Land.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you-”

“ You need not explain.” He replied as they headed down the stairs.

She kept walking, her pace even as the four of them headed down. “It’s… Tom knew.”

Sammy stumbled slightly but regained his balance and followed. “He knew what?”

“Who we were up there. Together.” She shook her head. “He’s known far longer than I have,  and I held back for nothing. ”

“Fear corrupts logic. Believe me, I’d know…” he trailed off, staring ahead at nothing. “Wait.” A dull throb in the back of his mind, a slow, creeping dread that pooled in his gut. Sammy grasped Allison’s shoulder with one hand and stuck his other straight out to slow the two wolves behind him. “Don’t make a sound.” Slowly, cautious as ever, Sammy craned his head over a railing to look into the dark depths below. Only three flights down, but the rings of feathery black told him enough.

The ink demon lumbered on, letting out a low warble as it came into sight and looked around. Finding nothing, it whined and continued on, motes of black following behind it.

Brief and distant of an encounter as it was, the ink demons’ recent changes didn’t ease Sammy’s mind. He exhaled and pulled his arms back. “Alright. It’s safe.”

Allison shot a dubious smirk at him over one shoulder.

“Er… relatively, I mean.”

They landed at the bottom of the stairs, a tall tin poster of the number 10 on the wall nearby.

“This way.” The horned woman didn’t slow, taking a sharp right up ahead.

“How can you know it’s still there?”

“It never moves. Just bangs its head.”

The ink man groused. “That’s a common theme, it seems.”

The group came upon the lost one after a minute, still banging its head in slow, tired motions.

“Pardon me,” Sammy began, not sure how else to get a response.

The lost one slowed and turned to look at him, then turned back and banged its head faster.

Sammy grumbled. It didn’t help to know that some lost ones feared him still. News of his changes had spread, but he was still the terrifying prophet of a terrible demon to some.

Buddy frowned and glanced at Tom.

Tom looked back with a raised brow.

Buddy pointed to himself, then the lost one, and gave the clone on his back a shake.

Tom shook his head, but ushered Buddy off with his intact arm.

The friendly wolf patted Sammy’s shoulder and sidestepped him, undoing the rope on the clone and giving the angry thing a toss. It landed with a shuddering gargle at the lost one’s feet.

Work done, Buddy stepped away to stand beside Sammy.

The lost one turned its face down to the clone. It blinked and crouched down.

Buddy took the chance to hit play.

_**"** I don't be seein' what the big deal is. So what if I went and painted some of those Bendy dolls with a crooked smile? That's sure no reason for Mr. Drew to be flyin' off the handle at me. And if he really wants to be so helpful, he could be tellin' me what I'm to be doin' with this warehouse I got full of that angel whatchamacallit. Not a scrap of that mess be a-sellin'! Probably have to melt it all down to be rid of it all. **"** _

“... crooked smile, eh?” The lost one muttered, before reaching for the clone that was now inching closer while still tied up.

Sammy took a step backward. “Forgot to mention-”

_splat!_

Allison covered her gaping mouth with a hand.

“That’s how you know it _worked_ ,” he said with a slump of his shoulders. He knew he’d missed something.

The black puddle rippled and boiled before a lost one pulled itself from the dark. It heaved a breath and shouted, “Thunderin’ Jesus!” The lost one stood with a hop. “How the hell did I get down here?” He winced and rubbed his forehead. “Feels like a hangover. Wish it were one.” He removed his hand and stared at Sammy. “Wait.” He took a step back. “Why’s the prophet down here?” He looked about to the rest of the group. “Hell are these guys?”

Sammy raised his hands to gesticulate at the group. “These are our friends, Shawn. They helped put you back together.”

“That so? Well, then.” The lost one’s eyes turned up in a smile. “What’ve I missed?”

Allison’s smile widened. “We’re working together on getting out of this place.”

Shawn blinked and pointed at Sammy. “You’re bein’ awful friendly. Last I knew you, you were barkin’ orders.”

“I’m a changed man.” He lay a hand over his own heart and smirked.

“I can see that! Can see your face ‘n all, too!” The lost one aimed a thumb over his own shoulder. “Need anythin’ else? Or can I head out?”

“Head out.” Sammy shooed him away, still smiling.

“Aye aye! Thank ya!” The lost one zipped out of sight and down a hallway.

“Welcome!” Sammy waved at the retreating form’s back and shot Buddy a smile. “Brave wolf. That went well!”

Buddy gave a nod, then froze with perked ears. He turned his full attention to the hallway and frowned.

Slapping footsteps came from where the lost one had gone, and Shawn flew at them, screaming wordlessly as he did.

Tom grabbed Allison’s nearest arm and pulled her to the wall while Sammy pushed Buddy behind him.

“Spoke too soon,” the horned woman said as the lost one raced out of sight.

“Seems so…” But now he was hearing whatever had had Buddy’s attention. The ink man turned to peer down the hallway.

There was a low ticking of reels from down the hall, and hot sepia floated from around the corner to turn their way.

Sammy held a hand to shield his eyes. “Norman!”

The light dimmed.

“Well!” Sammy crossed his arms. “Guess we don’t have to go looking for you, then!”

A slow shake of his projector, and the amalgam reached for Buddy with a cable.

Buddy smiled widely and gestured to the group, before sticking a finger in the air and spinning it in a circle.

Allison smiled. “Buddy, is that how you say Bendy-Land?”

The wolf nodded without looking.

Her gaze fixed on Norman’s light. “Henry’s waiting for us there.”

The amalgam perked at that. Norman turned back where he’d come from and walked on, Buddy close behind.

Sammy blinked. “Guess he’s leading.”

The horned woman smirked and took Tom’s mechanical hand in hers. “Seems like it. Let’s go.”

/

Bertrum was and forever would be a pain in the ass.

But it surprised Henry how he could still handle the angry eggbeater on his own!

Still exhausting, and no Susie to be seen. Bendy hadn’t even shown up when he’d gotten the switches down below. So. He waited at the steps of the haunted house, axe in his lap. The blade was slicked with oil and ink. Nicks where gears and sheet metal had scraped its head shown silver in the dark sepia world.

“Moping, errand boy?”

He turned, axe ready only to find Susie standing on the tracks of the ride.

He huffed and lowered the weapon. “Always gotta get the drop on me.”

She flicked her hair over a shoulder. “Well, I am a fright. Where’s the rest of your little band?”

“They’re close.”

She sauntered closer. “Are they?”

“Yup.” He went back to studying the axe blade.

The twisted angel hummed. “Henry…”

He tilted his head to her but didn’t look.

“From what I’ve heard from my surveillance, you were a doctor of sorts?”

“Field medic.”

“Mm… what have you seen?”

Anxiety dug curled fingers behind his sternum. “Too much.”

“Do you know the damage a pen knife can do?”

He paused. “I’ve seen a lot of injuries. Patched up a lot, too.” He peered at her out of the corner of his eye. “Why?”

She shifted. “I know you’ve seen my throat.” A clawed hand reached for her neck and covered the wound. “One swipe from behind,  then  I  was thrown in to the machine .”

“... I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t save anyone.”

He sighed lowly. “I know.”

She let out a gruff, low noise from her under voice. “At least you’re trying to help.”

“Yeah.”

“So then, Henry. What exactly is the plan from here?”

The cartoonist hopped off the platform and turned her way, axe blade out over one shoulder. “We pair the clones and lost ones so they’re whole again. After that? I don’t know.”

Her good eye squinted. “Don’t know?”

“No.”

“So all of this work you’re doing? All this hard, difficult, messy work… it might not be enough.”

“Exactly. But not doing anything sure won’t help.”

She shrugged. “Keep telling yourself that, errand boy.”

“Oh, I will.” His brow furrowed at the sudden noises coming from somewhere down a corridor. “I think that’s them.”

“Then that-” Susie turned back to the haunted house and climbed down onto the tracks- “is my cue to leave.”

“Wait, why even come out if you’re going to go back to hiding?”

“You never tried to take my head off with your axe, or snap my neck, or run me through with a sword.” She smirked his way, half gone in the dark. “But I’ll keep an eye on you.”

He swallowed and adjusted the axe. “I wish you’d join us.”

“Well… wish in one hand…” She turned down the track and ducked out of sight.

She was well out of sight by the time Sammy and the rest showed up.

“There you are!” Sammy crowed as he spotted him. His bright gaze melted at the sight of the open doors behind Henry. “You managed?”

“Yup.”

“On your own?”

He managed a weak smile. “I’m surprised, too. Thought I was loosing my edge.”

“Edge. Right…” The ink man frowned, still looking at the doors even as he slowly stepped closer. “How did your, ah, discussion with Susie go?”

A sigh, and Henry passed Sammy the axe. “Well, she’s… not going to be in the way. She’s more willing to help us but doesn’t want to be here face to face. Not yet, anyway.” He quirked a brow. “If you run fast enough, you can probably catch up to her.”

“I’d rather not.”

Allison headed their way. “I have to agree.” But her smile was bright as she looked to Henry. “Henry. I have good news. Progress, and… something else.”

Sammy slid the axe into a loop on his overalls. “I know the progress, but not the something else.”

“Well, you can both hear it, but… Tom remembers.” She blinked, eyes glassy. “He remembers us being married. He remembers himself and me. He just… can’t write or talk. Only draw.”

Henry smiled, the anxiety behind his sternum easing completely. “That’s great. That’s another piece to the puzzle. But the other part?”

“The something else, right.” She glanced over at Tom, who was with Buddy and Norman over by the haunted house tracks. Tom was examining the bottom of a car that Norman had graciously tipped over, pointed at some rusted gear with Buddy over his shoulder. Norman looked down to give them light. What they were doing was beyond her. “The something else is about when you fell in the river.”

The cartoonist and musician shared a look. “What about it?”

“You said you saw a mouth destroy the ink machine?”

“Yes?”

“Then… Tom showed me what we have to do. We have to destroy the machine.” If the aggressive ink exes Tom splattered over the schematic had meant anything.

A beat.

“How? Does anyone know where it is before I start it?” Henry turned to Sammy and lay a hand to his arm. “Does the loop start when I go through the door or after I start the machine?”

Sammy hummed lowly in thought. “My day starts the same each time a loop  begins . An hour after I wake, I’m told that someone has started the machine. But in these last few, I’m already in the music room before the hour is up.”

“So… if the loop exists before I come along, why hasn’t anyone destroyed the machine yet?”

Amber eyes glowed. “Above all, fear the machine.”

A blink. “But why?”

The ink man sighed and ran a hand over his head. “The machine is _only_ a machine. Harmless until started. But it is what gave the ink a way to… create. The same way that a pencil can’t create a drawing until it’s picked up. Or a banjo is just wood and strings until played. But instead of cute toons or bright music… nightmares. Lives broken apart. Even when inert, the machine endures… and we’ve been at the mercy of its machinations enough to know it’s not worth touching.”

Henry set his jaw and peered at Sammy over his glasses. “So… an hour? Before I start the machine?”

“Yes.”

“Every single time?”

“Yes.”

“Then… everyone on this side has to wait that hour. Time it if you have to. When the machine doesn’t start after that hour is up? Destroy it.” He looked to Allison, sensing her curious stare. “I have a path in Joey’s apartment. If time passes an hour here on a loop, that means I broke it.”

“Okay. I can remember that. What do we do for now?”

Henry grabbed Sammy’s hand and turned to the haunted house track.

The car that the two wolves and Projectionist had been examining had been righted, and Buddy was looking their way.

“We go to the docks and handle the giant hand.”

\


	30. Trente

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get out the way of me.

**Get out the way of me.**

/

T he puddle with a hat that bubbled by the dock was a strangely welcome sight.  Good to know Jack could keep his word!

All ison was less than impressed. “So… this is the hand piece?”

Sammy gave a nod. “Seems so. He has the marking.”

“Is… there a reason he’s so… melted?” Her tone on the last word upticked in concern.

“He can hear you,” Sammy muttered before heading to the boat.

Her brows furrowed, but she smiled down at  the lump now looking up at her . “Hi, Jack. I’m Allison.”

Jack gargled at Allison and tipped his hat her way before following Sammy with a sloshing roll forward.

Henry was close behind. He figured if they went in first with Jack ready to go,  the hand wouldn’t waste time on the other boat. It never seemed to go for Tom and Allison, just whatever boat he was in.

A nd, no. No one would be throwing Jack.

Sammy steered out into the tunnels, bright eyes searching the depths for movement. For all he knew, the hand broke its path when they got Jack this close to it. If the sunken boat still half-submerged meant anything. The hand usually dragged it under when he and Henry got close.

Movement from the left. Faint, but steady.  A rolling wave of blackness slowly slunk toward the left of the boat. It came to a stop and flung itself upwards with a spread, stained glove open to the air abo ve.

Norman’s speaker hissed at the sight, and he turned his attention to the paddle wheel. Sammy grabbed Henry’s close arm and pulled him  away from the hand’s path. Eyes on the hand, he murmured. “Jack. That’s for you.” He glanced to Jack… who was playing pancake on the floor of the boat. “Jack-”

The hand’s wrist bent and the fingers twirled over the boat like a curious child trying to pick witch candy to pilfer first.  But the hand did not slap down onto them, nor did it slink back into the darkness. It instead unfurled  a single, battered finger and pointed at the searcher… before delicately tapping the hat  with its little finger .

Jack, the ink pancake in a hat, rose slightly at that. He let out a low grumble and reached out with a flipper curiously.

Sammy pushed Henry behind him slightly, ready if the hand lashed out or change its mind.

But the moment the hand and flipper touched,  both of them collapsed, the hand crashing down to send a  spinning wave of ink into the boat. The arm and wrist san k down and melted away as gallons of ink sloshed and swirled in the boat's bottom.

Cold ink wrapped around Henry’s ankles and filled his shoes. A sensation he loathed but was more than used to by now. Arms raised in alarm, he glanced to Sammy. “You alright?”

“Yes.” Despite the sour look he shot the ink in the boat.

“Norman, are you-”

Norman was smacking the paddle wheel at a rapid rate.

“Okay, he’s fine.”

“G-oh!” Sammy cut off mid-word to give the ink creeping up his left leg some focus. “Please be Jack and not something else.”

“Who else could it be?”

The ink man blinked. “Several angry fingers detached from the hand? Mini ink demons? My mother?”

“Why would-”

The ink on his leg peeled back to reveal a far more solid flipper. It patted the leg and withdrew.

From the ink, a felted hat popped up, clean as a whistle. Jack emerged soon after, looking less the melted puddle and more like a typical searcher… but with a nice hat!

Henry smiled down at Jack. “Well? Feeling okay?”

The searcher grumbled and nodded.

“Good.”

Sammy turned to the other boat, leaning on the edge to cry out, “It worked!”

Allison called back with a faint laugh. “We know! We watched!”

Sammy huffed and shook his head. “Of course.”

Norman had gotten the paddle wheel unstuck and churning away, then turned to find the lump named Jack was… less of a lump.

Jack looked up into the sepia light and cocked his head.

The projector tilted, and the two ended up waving at each other, unsure but alright.

Henry peered at the grinning ink man and smiled wider. Bertrum was the last one to tackle, but  if the river hand had been this smooth of sailing, how bad could the angry eggbeater be?

\

Bertrum was apparently the most stubborn bastard in this place, if it was taking this long to figure out who his lost one was. Ten loops since getting Jack in one piece, and this was where they’d ended up; nowhere.

It shouldn’t have been this hard. They were running out of options. The lost ones who had been matched up stayed out of their way, but there were still so many to sort through. So much work left to track.

Thankfully, Henry came up with this plan, and Sammy couldn’t be more pleased by it. No throwing anybody.

Who or whatever Henry touched gained his marks from golden ink. So, Henry attempted to touch every searcher and lost one he could. Some were even glad to touch him first. Some had the idea to ruffle his hair, of all things! Funny as it was, Sammy wasn’t a fan of that.

Far as he was concerned, he was the only one to do that. Never mind Norman doing it; Norman pet _everyone_ , save for Tom.

In the lounge where lost ones huddled, Sammy figured out their missing fragment. Held in the arms of a certain lost one who had only some loops ago regained her memories… and all of her fingers.

“Lacie.”

The lost one holding the other winced.

“Let me see his face.”

“Why? You got plenty of lost ones to look at.”

“You and  he are all that’s left.”

“Don’t want ya hurting him.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “After how you were with me, what’s stopping you from trying that same shit on him? Nothing.”

Sammy stepped forward and glowered. “You are holding up freedom for ourselves and you. I can’t let this continue.”

Henry, having gotten free of the lost one who’d been fluffing his hair a moment ago, gave him a look over his glasses. “You know we can’t force this kinda thing.”

“We’re running out of time.”

Henry reached out and rubbed Sammy’s arm with the back of his knuckles. “We’re not. I promise.”

Sammy’s jaw worked, and he turned, sighing loudly. “Fine. You have fun with this one, then.” He strode out of the lounge, the watching lost one’s parting from his path.

Sammy may not have been the mad prophet anymore, but that didn’t take his sharpness, his bite. They knew better than to cross him, even now. He was the shepherd to their flock, but his calmness and gentleness lasted only to get what he needed. They knew better. They kept back.

“Is that better?” the cartoonist asked.

“... barely.” But her gaze lost its edge.

“I’m sorry we were rough with you.”

“Mm.”

“Is there… another reason you don’t want to let him go?”

She blinked slowly and stroked the back of the one she helds head. “It was a nightmare to come back. I don’t know what happened to him, but he ain’t himself. I want him better, but your way ain’t gentle. He needs gentle.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone. I never have. You can… you can come with us if he has the marking? Make sure he’s safe.” He smiled. “He trusts you from what I see.”

She blinked. “...you mean that?”

“I do. Come with us, both of you. That way you can keep him safe.”

She looked down at the lost one in her arms and slowly pushed him away. “Hey now, darlin’. I need you to talk to this guy a minute. I won’t let you be, but just let him get a look, okay?”

The lost one sniffed and turned painfully slow to Henry. He saw his face and flinched back. “Ah!” The lost one covered his face and recoiled. “Don’t hurt me!”

Henry  reached back for the seeing tool and smiled calmly. “I’m not gonna hurt you. Just need to get a look at you, okay?”

A gold eye showed between cracked fingers. “Promise?”

“Promise.” He glanced at Lacie. “And I think your friend here would let me have it if I tried.”

“Damn right,” she grumbled.

“... okay.” The lost one pulled his hands away and held still, eyes focused and wary.

Slowly, careful not to startle him so quickly after gaining his trust, Henry raised the tool.

There on the lost ones forehead was an outline of a balloon, curly string and all.

“There we go. You’re who we were looking for.” He tucked the tool away and stood. “Just wait here while I talk to Sammy, okay?”

But the poor thing was already back in Lacie’s arms.

Henry stood with a grunt as his back made an angry crackling noise, then walked over to Sammy. The ink man had taken out his banjo and was quietly plucking it and tuning it. He looked up when Henry drew close.

“Any luck?”

“It’s him. They’ll work with us if they can both go to  Bendy-Land .”

A blink. “That easy?”

A nod. “Yeah.”

“...my little sheep, the diplomat.”

Henry chuckled and felt his face warm. “Now to get them into the vent.”

Sammy hummed, a curled hand to his mouth. “That is tricky.”

“I can go first, then Bertrum. Lacie can be a buffer between you and  him .”

“Mm. I scare him that bad, eh?”

A shrug. “You’d have to ask him.”

“I’d rather not.”

A gruff, female voice growled from nearby. “Good. That ain’t happening.”

Sammy’s brow scrunched. “Excuse me?”

Lacie glared hard his way. “No way in hell are you taking us to Bendy-Land. You never mentioned Bendy-Land as where we gotta go. I know what goes one in there. Heard it plenty o’ times! Hearin’ his voice through the walls screamin’ how he’s still here. You ain’t puttin’ him near some mechanical monster when he’s already broken up as is.”

The ink man growled and strode forward, eyes glowing with hellfire. He was only stopped by Bertrum’s lost one speaking up.

“Lacie?”

“Hey, darlin’.” Her gruff tone softened to an almost purr. “It’s fine. Don’t worry.”

The lost one patted her shoulder. “Lacie. I wanna go home.”

She sighed. “I know you do-”

“We all wanna go home.” He pulled away from her and tensed. “Prophet?” the lost one asked timidly as he turned to at most face Sammy’s way.

The wrath that had boiled inside his rib cage faded, and the ink man felt his face smooth as he calmed himself. “Yes, dear sheep?”

“... if I go, will we go home?”

He blinked,  smiling  calmly . “Yes. It might not be right away. But we will all get to go home.”

“... okay.” The lost one sniffed and pulled himself from the other’s grasp. He stood on trembling, crooked legs. “I-I’m scared, but… we’re _all_ scared. I wanna go home, Lacie.” He sighed and reached down to the stunned lost one still sitting on the floor. “Don’t you?”

She blinked at his hand, then scoffed. “You’re my home, darlin’.” But she grasped the inky hand and was pulled to her feet. Her gruffness returned as she focused on Henry. “So, you had an order for us to go in?”

“Yeah.” Henry walked to the vent and pried it loose. “Have your friend go in after me, then you after him.”

“Sounds fine.”

/

Bertrum’s lost one was curious when in the giant Bendy-head, poring over the blueprints and designs with an eagerness one found only in children at a pet store. He never let go of Lacie’s hand, eyes wide as he pointed at some better drawings with his free one.

“I know these.” He pointed to the bigger ones on the walls, almost smiling. “I made these. They were… I don’t know.”

“Colossal wonders. That’s what you called them.” Henry peered at the two lost ones over the table.

“Speaking of, we’ll need this.” Sammy plucked the tape from where it sat and tucked it into a pocket. He’d caught on after the first few Bertrum fights that the voice in the room wasn’t a tape, but coming from the octopus ride itself.

“What is that?”

“Your tape. Like I said, we’ll need it.”

“I’ll take it.”

The musician blinked. “It’s fine.”

“You’ve got the axe. Again. Lemme have the tape.”

He sighed, shook his head, fighting a smile as he passed the tape over to Henry’s waiting hand.  “ Fine, fine.”  Sammy  cleared his throat and turned to the stairs. “This way.”

The games were almost second nature, easily defeated and simple when understood. The doors to deeper into the park creaked open, and Susie remained silent from wherever she hid. Even without the Butcher clones milling about, the twisted angel had no interest in interacting with anyone.

Buddy and Norman were waiting down below where the Butcher clones used to be.  The wolf eagerly waved, and  the Projectionist’s light lit brightly at the newcomers with Sammy and Henry. 

“No. No way in hell.” Lacie stepped in front of Bertrum. “That Projectionist’ll rip us in half!”

Henry shook his head. “No, he won’t. He’s not like that anymore. He hasn’t been like that in a long time.”

“That why he chased that boy, Shawn? Heard anything about _that_?” She glared hard enough that the cartoonist drew back.

Sammy scoffed and waved her off. “Shawn panicked. Norman was looking for us, not him.”

“Likely story.”

“I don’t need you to believe me, my dear.” He thumped down the stairs and waved to the amalgam. As soon as Norman looked his way, he said, “They don’t have mouths, so don’t mind them. But we have a plan for what to do. So, Norman-”

Lacie growled out, “Excuse me?” She huffed and looked back at Henry. “He always that rude?”

But her companion patted her arm. “It’s okay. He’s looking at the Prophet and nothing’s happened. He’s with that wolf and nothing’s happened.” He grabbed her arm and tugged. “We need to do this so we can go home.”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Henry muttered. “I still get scared of the things inside this place.”

The lost one blinked. “You do?”

“Yeah. But it helps to have a friend.” He smiled at Sammy down below before joining him on the lower floor.

“Ah, there you are, my little sheep. I was just telling Norman and Buddy what our plan was.”

“About that.”

An inked hand raised to placate. “I can assure you, I will throw no one. But! Norman and Buddy will handle the switches while _we_ handle Bertrum. That should save us time and ink demon encounters.”

“Huh. Sounds good.”

The two lost ones came down the stairs, following close behind the two men as they once more split up.

It was one of those times where Henry firmly believed that things were going almost too well.

The cartoonist turned to the two lost ones, Sammy entering the room that held the angry theme park ride.

“Alright. You two need to stay as far away from the ride as you can until we can get him down to one arm. He’ll still be awake, but he won’t be as dangerous.”

Lacie grabbed the lost one tightly. “Fine. You just don’t do anything stupid.”

Sammy called over his shoulder as he entered, “Wouldn’t dream of it!”

Henry shot the pair a tired smile, taking his place behind the desk. From all around yet right ahead, the speech that preceded a nightmare of a fight played.

**"** _The biggest park ever built, a centerfold of attractions. Each one, more grand than the one before it. It makes my eyes come to tears at the thought. But then... oh Mister Drew. For all your talk of dreams, you are the true architect behind so many nightmares. I built this park. It was to be a masterpiece! My masterpiece! And now you think you can just throw me out? Trample me to the dust and forget me? No! This is_ my _park!_ My _glory! You may think I've gone... But I'm still here!_ **"**

A clanging, deafening growl of metal as the ride sprang to life. The head popped into view and gaped, eyes lifeless and staring as the arms of the ride crashed down.

“Go left!” Sammy called as he bolted for the arm on the right.  
  
Henry scooped up the axe that’d been loosed from the broken desk and did as told.

But he misjudged. Badly.

“Henry!”

He turned just in time for the car on an arm to slam into him full force and fling him into darkness. There was no riding the thing this time.

Dark.

The tunnel was still as dark and empty as ever. He’d almost forgotten how it felt. The sepia light at the end hadn’t changed. Sighing at his mistake, Henry charged for the light and-

-came to on his back, ears ringing. Someone droned on in the background. He glimpsed Sammy running to him, only to be stopped by an arm in his path. The ink man swung the axe with bared teeth and wide eyes.

But Henry was focused on the voice.

**"-** _ever-tactless Joey Drew introduces me, the great Bertrum Piedmont, as Bertie! Like I was his child. You may be paying me, Mister Drew! But you don't own me! I'll build you a park bigger than anything YOU could ever possibly conceive! But before you go taking any bows, Mister Drew, know that this grand achievement will belong to me... and to me alone._ **"**

The ride slowed. The music cut off completely. The cars wobbled on hinges and the arms trembled from being held aloft where they were. But everyone’s focus fell to the head. It gasped for air it didn’t use and blinked. Almost alive, almost bewildered.

The cartoonist stood up, dizzied from having been back in the tunnel after so long.

“... Bertie?”

Henry looked over, swallowing at the timid, bitter voice.

The lost one standing tall and eyes wide. It stumbled forward, staring in horror at the head in the ride.

The head looked back, jaw wide and deeper than hell.

“My name’s not… it’s not _Bertie_! I’m not a _child_! I’m… I’m Bertrum!” his hands balled into fists and he took off in a sprint. “So is he! He’s me! He’s me!” The lost one screamed at the top of his lungs and clamored up onto the ride before dragging himself into the giant head’s open mouth and disappearing down the gullet.

The arms of the ride rose as high as they could and fell with a hissing thump. The lights died out, the music stopped mid-note, and the room fell silent and still. Too still.

Sammy gaped. “Shit.” But his focus was back to Henry. “Henry!”

A groan from the ride, and every soul in the room turned to it.

The doors popped open with a lifeless  clank as waves of thick, greasy ink rolled out. The giant, gasping head was completely gone, and in its place was a quivering lump o n the dias.  Then it twitched.

Lacie took a step. “Bertrum?”

The lump flung itself upwards and gasped. “L-Lacie!” Bertrum tumbled off the platform onto the ground  w ith a wet smack, but that didn’t stop him. “Lacie!” He ran for her and grabbed her in a hug that swept her off her feet. “Lacie!”

“I got ya, darlin’.” She hugged him back, eyes shut with relief.

“I’m alive, Lacie.” He pulled away and cupped her face with both hands. “So are you. We… we can…” but he blinked hard and turned to the two men behind him. “You two.”

“Hello.” Henry waved. “How are you feeling, Mister Piedmont?”

He scoffed. “More myself than ever, I think.” He pointed at Sammy. “You were smart to bring that tape with you, you know.”

The ink man preened. “Why, thank you.”

“ I should be the one thanking you. Prophet and Savior.”

Henry grimaced. That… felt wrong. How could he be a savior if he didn’t know what he was doing?

The ink man gave a nod. “Yes, well. You were a piece to this puzzle of a place.”

“Indeed, I was… but, Lacie…” Bertrum turned to her and grasped her hand softly, eyes brighter than the sun. “Of all things I forgot… you weren’t one of them. I always remembered you.”

“Aw, shucks.” But she gave a gruff chuckle at him. “You need anything else from me and Bertrum?”

“That will be all.”

“Good. I’m sick o’ lookin’ at you.” Lacie tugged Bertrum’s hand, and the two left the room. The mechanical beast that had housed half of Bertrum Piedmont smoldered quietly in the background.

“Well…” Henry chuckled and bumped Sammy with his elbow. “I guess Bertrum has a type.”

The musician laughed quietly. “Hell of a type to have!”

“I don’t know. I can see the appeal.” He peered at Sammy from the corner of his eye. “Do you have a type?”

“You are my type, little sheep.”

“What’s that mean, though?”

Sammy grabbed his hand and headed away from the dead octopus. “Oh, let me count the ways.”

\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vote.


	31. Trente-et-un

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to believe.

**I** **t’s time to believe.**

/

“Henry?”

“Sammy?”

The ink man frowned from the piano bench,  fingers drumming a beat only he knew . “Can you think of anything else we might need to  do ?”

The cartoonist pondered it, hazel eyes downcast. “No. That worries me.”

“Why does it worry you, my little sheep?”

“It feels like we are missing something, but I can’t think of what.”

“ Maybe-” the ink man  paused and offered a curious smirk- “the missing thing is finally getting out?”

“... maybe. It all just feels too easy.”

Sammy chuckled. “Too easy? Easy isn’t a bad thing. I’d take easy over this trial of ink any day.”

“What I don’t get, if everything is how it should be? Why wasn’t last loop it?”

The fingers of his left hand tapped out a tango. “I mean… you died. Bertrum smacked you into next week.” The ink man shrugged. “Been a while since you’ve done that. Maybe this is the loop where we make sure everything sticks, you staying alive included.”

He cracked his neck and hefted the axe. “Let’s look around to be sure what we’ve done stuck. That sound good to you?”

Sammy stood, not the fluid roll of a body made of ink, but of one more human and boned. “If it eases your mind, why not?” He held his hand out, palm up and fingers lax.

The cartoonist took the hand and walked on. “Okay. Let’s check on Jack first.”

They stood before the boarded up tunnel, finding the far-less-melted Jack waiting and smiling tiredly their way.

“Jack. How are you feeling?” Sammy asked the searcher.

The searcher gargled firmly and gave his best thumbs-up. He then pointed to the two men to ask them the same thing.

“We’re doing fine. Can you… if you feel you can…” Sammy was still working on being gentle with others. Henry was forgiving, but Jack was still fragile. “Come to the docs? We think this might be the loop where we-”

But Henry interrupted. “We’re not sure, but-”

Sammy frowned and gave Henry’s hand a squeeze. “Jack. Just meet us at the docks.”

The searcher shrugged and nodded, then slimed away back into the tunnels.

The ink man shot Henry a look. “Henry, don’t do that.”

“I don’t want to give anyone the wrong idea. We don’t know if this is it-”

A blink. “I mean interrupting me, my little sheep.”

“... right.”

The quickened pulse from Henry’s hand had the ink man give it a squeeze. “Let’s get to Buddy. I’m sure he’ll be eager to get going.”

\

Once again, they opted not to stay the night with Buddy. The friendly wolf smiled all the same and grabbed his light hat  once the two men explained what they were up to.  The wolf seemed excited, more bounce in his step, a little more  speed to his loping gait. 

Buddy gave a salute and split off when they entered the Heavenly Toys section, heading to find Norman as he had grown to do. His new pattern after Susie stopped messing with them and got bored.

“Henry,” Sammy’s voice grew curious as they headed down into the center of the room. “I’m wondering something. A silly thing, I suppose.”

“What is it?”

He smirked, golden eyes downcast. “I never have asked what _music_ you like. Other than my banjo and I, I mean.”

The cartoonist smiled, feeling his cheeks warm and his pulse slow. He didn’t realize it’d been racing to start with. “Well… I can say that music has changed a lot. So has many things. But music? I’m good with anything that’s not… aggressive.”

“Aggressive?”

“What was that song you played to get the ink demon away from me? You came back with a head full of memories?”

Sammy blinked. “The Cuckoo is too aggressive for you?”

“No, no! That’s my limit!” He chuckled as he drew closer to the elevator. “Okay, well… maybe anything on the louder end of Elvis.”

The ink man squinted, lips pursed the way they did when he knew he was missing something important. “Who’s Elvis?”

The man shook his head with a bright smile. “I’ll show you when we get out.” He pressed the button to take them down to Bendy-Land. “Got a couple of his records in my collection.”

Sammy cocked a brow. “ So you  _ do _ have a record player?”

“Yup.”

“What brand?”  At the  baffled smile Henry gave him, the ink man flustered. “There’s a difference between a Victrola and an Emerson!”

The cartoonist shook his head. “Zenith. Nice one, too. Has a built in radio.”

“Fantastic.” He’d learned a little more about his little sheep and distracted the anxious man from overthinking freedom. A win in any book or play.

/

Sammy hurled the baseball at the bottles, knocking the tower to the ground with a satisfying clatter. “What happened after the studio? You had to have done-” he grunted and hurled another ball, taking down the second tower- “something after that besides being a field medic.”

Henry pulled the trigger, and a target popped away. “I did animation for a few commercials. Nothing like Bendy or Sillyvision.” Another pull and another target popped out of sight. “I loved to draw, but animation lost its luster after how Joey ran things.”

The doors to further into Bendy-Land creaked open and the two men walked away from the game booths.

“What did you do?”

“I drew a comic for the Sunday paper. Still going, too…” Unless he’d been gone for the months he felt he’d been trapped in the studio. However time worked, he knew it’d been an eternity for _him_.

“Ooh, what about?”

“The neighbor’s cat, actually. He loved my back yard. Sweet thing, little crazy, but wonderful to draw.”

“Huh.” The ink man scoured the floors below to search for any clones, only to find nothing trundling about. “I’d… honestly thought you’d go into something medical.”

“No. Too many war memories attached, just like animation. I might be okay with slinging the axe, but… I’ve never been a fighter.” He turned and went down the stairs. “I went for field medic because I wasn’t _expected_ to hurt people as a medic.” An inaudible sigh at the bottom of the stairs. “Didn’t know the searchers were people.”

Sammy caught up and grasped the man’s shoulder, fingers drumming. He’d Pull Henry from any dark thought that passed him by, no matter how many times he had to do it. “Well, no one here has died because of you, as I said long ago.”

“Save for me?”

“You don’t count. You’re a crocus!”

Henry snorted a laugh and turned to smile at the ink man. “Crocus?”

“Because you don’t stay dead?”

“I guess. Let’s get the switches and check out Bertrum.”

“Of course… but Bertrum is whole again. Do you mean-”

“-the ride. Yeah. I’m… I’m getting used to it all.” He split off for the left switch, and Sammy wandered off to the right. “Buddy and Norman should show up soon.”

“We’ll meet them in the haunted house entrance, as before…” Pulling the switch, and pondered it. Why did they still need to start the ride if Buddy were whole and Susie wasn’t an enemy at this point? “The way to the lost harbor from here doesn’t have to go through the haunted house, you know.”

Henry called back, “I know, but Tom and Allison come that way. Have for the last dozen loops.”

Brows furrowed, Sammy gave a small head shake and left the alcove. “But we _could_ just skip ahead to the part where we go to the lair.”

Henry was waiting for him at the doorway, standing far enough back that he didn’t crowd the door. “I don’t want to leave anyone out.”

Sammy emerged with a sharp frown. “You’re stalling.”

Henry raised a hand to wave him off. “I’m not.”

But Sammy took the hand by the wrist and held it, gold eyes bright and fixed on Henry’s own hazel ones. “My little sheep, you’ve been going slow since we came to this place.”

Henry looked away, mouth ticking to the side. “You’re the one holding me up right now.”

“Because something’s bothering you and I need to know what.” Sammy’s voice took its sharpened edge, not from malice but from worry.  His free hand lifted, cautious and slow, before resting at where Henry’s neck and shoulder met. The muscle lay coiled and hard under the fabric, and he could just feel Henry’s pulse pounding under  his fingers. “Just… tell me.  Please? ”

The cartoonist swallowed, and he blinked slowly. “If this is it, and this loop is the end, then that’s good. But Sammy, you can’t tell me this is the final loop. You can’t tell me the end being this easy is right.”

Oh, he figured it was that. “I’m not one for looking gift horses in the mouth.” He released the grip on Henry’s wrist and lay the hand to mirror the one already up there. “We… if it is that simple, we celebrate it. If it’s not? We get back to work.”

“I don’t wanna let you down.”

“You’re not. Even if I snap at you or spiral into a fit. We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” A small nod. “Yeah.”

“Good. Now then!” He grinned, teeth aglow. “Let’s bother Bertie!”

“You said that wasn’t him a minute ago.”

Sammy shrugged, palms to the ceiling. “Oh, hush. Let me have my fun!”

Bertrum’s room was still smokey as before,  lights shining from above and catching the sharp edges  and bulbs of the mechanical monster  just so . It held the four-armed whirligig, stationary and silent.  But nothing happened. No words of wrath and broken dreams. No ominous music or a gasping head,  and no swinging arms to slice apart . The octopus ride was just what it should have always been;  harmless .

Sammy didn’t quite buy it and strode to the desk. The declaration was silent, the desk but a desk and not a place where a fight to survive started. Shooting Henry a look, Sammy cupped a hand around his mouth and shouted, “Hey, Bertie!” and ducked to hide behind the desk.

Nothing.

“Sammy, stop trying to get splattered.” But he couldn’t fight the smile that tugged his lips.

“Mm. Disappointing. I hoped I’d get a laugh.” He popped back onto his boots, heading for the lever that needed pulling. “But your smile will due.”

“Jeez.”

“It’s true. I didn’t exactly bring many smiles back in the studio’s heyday.” Sharp, flighty, particular, rude… the list could fill a pillowcase.

“You got a few out of me back then.”

They left the silent octopus for the haunted house ride. No more swinging limbs or terrifying rides.

“Well, looks like Norm and Buddy got the others.” If the open doors were any sign.

“Seems so. I wonder when Allison and Tom will show up.”

“Wonder, indeed.”

Sammy jumped at the voice and spun, stopped only by Henry’s warm grip on his near arm.

Susie giggled, hand to her lips. She was crouched under the doors to the haunted ride and stood with a flick of her hair. The halo bobbed limply from where it lay rooted in her skull. “So on edge, prophet.”

The ink man growled. “I haven’t been the prophet for a while. You know that-”

The twisted angel stepped from the platform and grinned her way down the stairs. She kept well enough back to be out of axe range. “Oh, I know. But getting you riled is just too funny.”

Henry peered at her over his glasses. “Do you need something?”

She blinked. “No, not really.”

The man quirked a brow. “You sure?”

“What could I need?” She ticked off the list she spun on the claws of one hand. “The filthy little clones are gone. That cursed ride is no more. Your little wolf is safe with the Projectionist, the ink demon hasn’t been roaming at all this loop, and my double and her wolf are in your pocket.” Her frown deepened. “I couldn’t _want_ anything if I tried.”

Henry blinked. “Wait. You haven’t seen the ink demon at all this loop?”

She scoffed. “I wouldn’t risk being out here this long if I’d seen him nearby. But he’s nowhere to be found on any of my surveillance systems… for now.”

The men looked to each other, and Henry looked back at Susie. “You could… come with us this loop? It might be what kicks off breaking the cycle, I mean.” But he didn’t know how much he believed it, considering the nagging tug in the back of his mind. Henry was still coming to grips that there may not be a next step, and that this was it.

“I could, but-”

The ticking of reels and the sound of Buddy’s boots silenced the group.

Susie blinked and stepped back a step. “Oh… well, I know I can’t outrun old light head.”

Sammy frowned. “Neither can I.”

The Projectionist rounded a corner and fixed his light on the duo, letting Buddy free of his cable.

Buddy ran their way but paused at seeing Susie. He gave her a blink but otherwise stayed still as a statue.

Susie raised her good brow at him.

The wolf blinked  agai n but gave her a  timid wave, inching his way to stand behind Henry.

Norman wasn’t so shy. Light bouncing between the new trio and the woman on the steps, he opted to go to her. He did, in fact, remember her enough to know he’d overreacted last time they’d been face to bulb. Snapping someone’s neck was a hell of an overreaction, really.

Susie stilled, good eye wide but giving a haughty sniff his way. “Come to snap my neck again?”

Norman gave a shake of his projector and reached cautiously for her head. He didn’t pause when she flinched, but made contact with the black curtain of hair that shrouded her face. He gave her a pat and let her alone.

Henry chuckled at her befuddled state. “He does that.”

“So I see…” she made to say more and instead turned her focus to the haunted house doors. Staying silent,  the twisted angel made her way to Norman’s side, staying out of arm’s reach and watching the doors like a cat would a bird.

Tom burst through the doors a minute later, pipe ready and brows low. His pie-cut eyes flicked to each person standing near the stairs, and he relaxed. He a grunt, he turned and held a door aside for Allison, who came into the room with far less urgency.

“Oh.” Allison’s wide eyes fell to Susie, who sneered back and folded her arms. But Allison’s attention went to Henry and Sammy. “You find anything else that needs doing?”

“No.” The cartoonist sighed. “No clones, no Bertrum, and Jack seems to be fine.”

“So,” the horned woman adjusted her cutlass and smirked. “What’s next?”

“Uh… the lair, I guess. I mean, if everything’s done and set, why wait?”

Susie blinked and took a step back. “The lair?”

“Yup.”

“Have fun with that, errand boy. I’m not going anywhere near that place.”

“Susie-”

She turned to leave and jerked at being held back. Looking down at her waist, she snarled at the surrounding cable. “Come on!”

But Norman growled from his speaker and lumbered on.

“Fine then!” Susie stumbled forward as the slack in her leash tightened and she had no choice but to follow.

Sammy fought a laugh, glancing at Henry at his side. His smile faded at the distant look the cartoonist wore. He bumped the man with his shoulder. “Let’s not keep them waiting.”

\

So it went. Down, past the lost harbor, down a hole with more rope than anyone could think to carry, and with the task to set up the right pipes quickly out of the way, the strange band gathered at the edge of the ink river.

And Bendy hadn’t been seen _once_. Another thing that gave Henry a wave of anxiety that was getting harder to stuff down.

But he had a duty to get this loop closed. To set them free. To try one more time. “Well… this is the lair.” Motion caught his eye, and he pointed. “And there goes the ink machine.”

The machine lowered to its ultimate resting place, perched above the doorway like a crown jewel.

“Mm. A little boring for something so terrible,” Susie mumbled from where she stood beside Norman. Buddy stood on the opposite side, gripping a cable tightly.

Tom and Allison stayed in their usual spot, the horned woman’s concern growing the longer she watched Henry. “Are you feeling alright?”

“It doesn’t… feel any different. It does, but doesn’t. Like I forgot to hammer down a nail and if I don’t find which one, the whole shed’ll collapse.” Henry set his jaw and smiled tightly at Sammy. “Can _you_ blame me?”

“Henry, think of it this way.” Sammy leaned close, eyes glowing brightly. “The last piece, the missing thing you keep thinking of, is you walking out of here completely unharmed. No death, no pain, no lies, and all those lost to this place aware of you. You will set us free. It’s time to make it so.”

A sigh. A shake of the head. “Don’t put all your faith in me, Sammy.” It couldn’t be this simple after so much fighting to find the way to freedom.

“It has to be this one. I can feel it. I-if not? We try again next loop!”

Henry shook his head and laced his hands behind it. “I… maybe. If we got everything right and we still can’t-”

Inked hands grasped him by his shoulders. “Please don’t overthink it, my little sheep.” Amber eyes bore into his with a determined scowl. “If we missed something, we’ll get it right. You said it yourself, we’ve figured every other riddle this place has thrown our way.”

He grasped Sammy’s wrists, thumbs rubbing the tarry skin under them. “If this doesn’t work, feel free to, god, I don’t know, sacrifice me to Bendy again.”

Allison called out, “We’re _not_ doing that.”

“I might,” Susie snarked from where she stood.

Sammy frowned hard. “Nothing is worth hurting you. _Nothing_.” His sharp frown melted into a tense smile. “Now… get to it, my little sheep.”

The cartoonist swallowed and gave a nod. “I… okay. Meet up where we always do?”

The ink man shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Henry turned and sank into the moat around the lair's entry. He cast the group behind him one last glance and steeled himself. So many sets of eyes trained on him, so unsure yet hopeful.

This was it. This had to be it. There was nothing else he could think of to do. But the distinct feeling in his chest that was telling him he’d forgotten something dampened his hopes.

He wasn’t one for prayer, but he sent one out to whoever was listening. He didn’t know if he could handle another loop.

.  
.  
.

  
  
Joey, propped on an elbow, extended his hand to the door in the wall. “Henry, come visit the old workshop. There’s something I want to show you.”  
  
The door to the studio opened wide, ink dripping to the left and a reel playing farther down the hallway. Dulled posters lined the walls, and the hall opened to the left.  
  
Mechanically, unable to stop his path forward, Henry spoke. “Alright Joey. I’m here. Let’s see if we can find what you wanted me to see.” The door shut behind him on its own. Like always. The spell was broken, and Henry could move on his own once more.  
  
The cartoonist took a breath and fell back against the door. So close. Almost. _Not enough._ He knew it wouldn’t work, so easy to just fight the ink demon in the lair like always and somehow think that’d work out. Of course, another goddamn loop. Another tally for the wall. Another way to let others down. His knees gave out, and he sank down.

It didn’t matter how much faith anyone put in him. This was all there could be. Just loops and Joey pointing to the door. Eyes shut tight and fingers knotting his hair, Henry _screamed_.

/

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dancing with danger. Won’t someone let me out of here? The past never changes. A sepia-toned nightmare.


	32. Trente-Deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The faithful drown together.

**The** **faithful drown together** **.**

\

He only stopped because he’d run out of breath. He didn’t budge when he felt a presence in front of him. Maybe it’d be better if Bendy killed him here and now. Maybe it’d be permanent.

“Henry.”

Well… that wasn’t Bendy. He didn’t look up. “It didn’t work.”

The presence got closer and crouched in front of him. “That’s obvious.”

“I’m sorry.”

Cool hands grasped his shoulders, fingers drumming gently.

“I’m supposed to fix this. That’s what everyone thinks, and I can’t-”

“Hush.” Sammy leaned in with open arms and wrapped the man in his inked embrace.

Henry broke quietly and hugged back. Ink seeped into his hairline.

The ink man’s grip grew tighter, charcoal fingers threaded in faded auburn hair.

“Sammy, what the hell are we missing?”

A cool sigh. “I wish I knew, my little sheep. It must be big, if it’s the only thing holding us back. If it’s big, it should be easy to find.”

“Then why can’t I find it?”

“Mm…” His hand paused. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“The harbor. We can think better down there. My flock won’t hurt you, my little sheep.”

“I _failed_ , Sammy. Of course they’ll be angry.”

The ink man hummed lowly. “They’d have to get by me first.”

Henry sniffed. “No… first is the ink machine.” He blinked slowly and held up a hand to stop the ink man from saying anything. “I can’t go anywhere without starting it. It… it shouldn’t take long.”

“Henry-”

But he pivoted and went after the dry cells. “There never was a choice.”

/

Despite every memory returned and every trait to spring back to life, Sammy knew the studio layout still. engraved into his very bones. It made the trek to the lost harbor easier than anything. Easier than getting Henry to cheer up.

To crack a smile. To speak. To do something other than hold his hand and blindly follow.

It ached, knowing his little sheep was so heartbroken. So devoid of the calm hope and glances over glasses to see straight through him.

But they made it.  Sammy decided it best to let the man rest on the cot in his private room. Away from prying, doleful eyes  of the gloomy, lumbering searchers and lost ones.

Henry sat on the cot, eyes to the floor and hands grasping the edge.

“You could lie down?”

“No.”

“You’re certain?”

A huff.

“Mm. Very well, my little sheep. But… I’m here. Should you need me.” Like he’d leave him alone after such a defeat. He grabbed the strap of his banjo and spun it forward. “I could play you something? It… might help.” And he didn’t know what else could do.

“Okay.”

A one-word answer was better than nothing. So he played. Calm things, gentle things, nothing faster than _Willow Weep for Me_ or _How Deep Is the Ocean._ The soft spot he had for love songs shown through as the clock on the wall ticked time away.

But Henry was still sullen, and after about an hour, Sammy stopped, wishing he could do more. He slid the banjo back to sit behind him, and he sighed quietly.

Then, a knock at the door.

Henry looked over and blinked. “Who could that be?”

“I’ll get it.” The ink man strode to the door and pulled it open a crack.

Outside stood two angels, two wolves, a searcher with a nice hat and a Projectionist… and the horned angel was at the front and absolutely at a loss at seeing him.

Sammy’s lip curled. “Well?”

Allison’s wide eyes lowered. “Well… what went wrong? Any ideas?”

A scoff. “No, we don’t have _any ideas_. If we did, we’d have come to you.”

Tom stepped forward with a growl. Norman stood to his full height and watched those before him carefully, cables ready should someone step wrong. Buddy at his side pinned his ears back. Susie stayed far enough away from Buddy but close enough to Norman, not looking up from the claws of her hand.

A rather fine lump slipped forward and halted before Sammy, hat in  his hand s and eye holes wide.

The musician pinched the bridge of his nose and rasped, “Whatever. Just get inside before the flock asks questions.” He turned on the last word and stalked back over to Henry on the cot.

Jack found a corner and parked himself in it, waving to Henry and affixing his hat.

Henry nodded, not looking up. “Hey, Jack.”

Allison and Tom entered too, the others opting to stay outside, though Susie lingered near the door.

“Henry?”

The cartoonist looked up at her and frowned. “Yeah?”

She fidgeted. “Do… do you have a plan?”

“...no.” Soft enough to be near silent.

“So… that’s it?” Her voice lay low from desperation. “After all we’ve done, you’re giving up on us?”

Sammy growled and stood to full height, threads of calm snapped completely. He stomped toward  Allison and Tom with a snarl.  “If you saw even a modicum of the litany of shit this man has gone through  to bring everyone  to the same page , none of you would  press him !  I’ve been at his side far longer than any of you have, but have I given up? No!  Give the man a break! ”

S usie rolled her eyes at his dramatics. “Oh, please.  You served the ink demon because you thought he’d set you free, too.” She sneered his way. “You  follow  _ anyone _ who gives you hope-”

“Stop it.” Allison turned and looked her melted double in the face with a hard scowl. “If you’re not going to help, leave.”

The false angel scoffed. “ Make me. ”

The Projectionist who’d lingered by the door this whole time, lumbered forward. Sammy raised the axe with a warning growl, only to have the Projectionist skirt around him, his light blazing and fixed on the broken man on the cot.

“Go ahead, Norm,” the cartoonist muttered without looking up.

A heavy,  gloved hand slapped his shoulder a few times… maybe to comfort?  But the amalgam tilted his projector to the side, lifting his free hand, index finger extended to the roof. The sentiment was clear.  He turned out of the room and left, wrapping a cable around Susie’s closest arm.

“How dare y-”

Norman growled but didn’t stop, and Susie stumbled out after him. Buddy  followed close behind.

The horned woman blinked and let out a slow puff of air. “Okay. We’re close. There’s nothing else we could do on the  clone’s part, and everyone you’ve encountered down her e , Henry, is on your side.”

“For now.” He sighed. “Until the next plan doesn’t work.”

“I…” She shook her head and stepped forward. “You’ve got to believe that, Henry! No one’s mad at y- okay, Susie is, but I think that’s her normal mood.”

“It is,” the ink man confirmed.

“So, let’s figure this out. We handled clones, memories are mostly back, everyone is ready… but the part I’m missing is the lair.”

The cartoonist looked up at her. “The lair? Why?”

“You’re the only one who goes into that room. We know we can’t go in, none of us can safely cross, but… I think I have an idea.” Allison hummed in thought. “Henry, what happens in that room?”

“The Ink Demon turns into this huge… thing. It gives chase and I can’t get it to stop. Even last time, it chased me down. Trust me, I’ve tried talking to it.”

“After that?”

“I wake up in Joey’s apartment, and he points to the door to this place.” Henry sighed and leaned back. “I can’t get the front door open to leave. He gives me a speech about how I should’ve pushed him a little harder… like it’s my fault this happened.” He gestured at everything with palms up.

The horned woman nodded, a thin hand to her mouth in thought. “ So, we  _ did _ miss something. Someone. We’ve been working together for a while now, but who do we run from? Who do we avoid?  The Ink Demon.”

Sammy perked a little. “He’s not _like_ us. He has no soul. He never did.”

“But that might be _why_ he’s the last piece to the puzzle. It’s the only piece left.”

“Allison, he _has no soul_. We can’t save something with no soul.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Maybe not the way we did the others, but we can’t rule it out. It’s worth a try.”

“Maybe.” Henry huffed a chuckle. “Or maybe the gold ink is right about me bringing death.”

Beside him, Sammy bumped him with his elbow gently, brows furrowed. “Not so. I’m not dead yet. No one here is. We haven’t lost anyone this loop, or the last ones either.”

“Maybe… but maybe this could have been avoided if I hadn’t left at all.”

The horned woman shook her head. “You can’t know that.”

“Joey sure thinks it’s my fault.”

From her p lace in the doorway, back  against the frame, Susie s ighed .  The twisted angel  rolled her good eye. “It’s not all about you, Henry.  Hard to realize but it’s true. ”

“Will you buzz off already? Go play with a corpse or something,” the ink man snapped.

Susie raised her arm to show Norman still had a grip on her. “I’m on a tight leash. Couldn’t leave if I tried. But seriously, Henry? I f Joey wants to harp on  this place being  all  your fault, that’s his idiocy showing through.” Her golden eye flicked to his face. “Everyone fell for the veneer.  You aren’t special. ”

“But I’d been pushing him since before I even called him my pal.” Pushed him to stay a little later to get something done. Pushed him to ease off the high balls and get food in his gut. Pushed him to be kinder to people working for him.

Susie growled. “You could have _pushed him_ to his knees before Christ and he’d still be a piece of shit!” At the Projectionist’s warning groan, she drew back. “No amount of setting yourself on fire would keep him warm, errand boy.”

A llison shot her double a look, then frowned back at Henry. “So… what now?”

Sammy frowned, brows scrunched. “I… I think you might be right.” He looked back over at Henry. “The ink demon’s the only thing that makes sense at this point, and it barely makes sense as is.”

Allison’s brows lowered, but her dark mouth smiled.

Henry looked up, exhaustion scrawled across his frame.

Sammy continued, amber eyes dark. “It didn’t seem possible. The Ink Demon needing saving like everyone else down here? He was worshiped because he was alive without a soul… and back when I was under his spell, I thought giving him one would… Fix him?” He shook his head. “But honestly, what did I know?”

“He’s acted different in some loops, but he can’t talk. He never had a voice.” Save for the movie. “I’ve talked to him, but he just… I don’t know, he refuses the help?”

“But he was _yours_.” The horned woman took a small, barely used sketch pad from her belt and pulled a pen from behind her ear. “The more I remember, the more links I find-” she pointed at Henry with the pen she pulled from behind her ear\- “You made the characters. You made Alice, Boris, and Bendy?”

A nod, and a  raised brow. “I did.”

She flipped to an empty page. “Here’s what I think. The more you interacted with this place, the more _changed_.” She quickly scrawled a halo, a dog bone, and the outline of Bendy’s head. “You, uh,” she stalled and looked to Sammy. “What did _you_ call them? The pieces of souls in some clones?”

“Fragments… and I think I see where you’re going.” He smiled at the drawings. “Continue.”

Allison nodded and turned back to the paper. “Right. You’ve found the fragments of souls lost to clones,  and  you’ve found two Boris’s and two Alice’s that are the two sides of the character’s personalities.  The musician and the prophet? Two parts of a whole. Buddy and Tom? Two parts of a character. Same for Susie and I. Ink and machine, in tandem. Two sides of a coin!  All that’s left?” She  drew a line through the halo and the dog bone, then drew a question mark inside the Bendy head. “Him. The devil himself.  All in one place, too .”

Henry swallowed. He’d already accepted his survival was purely cartoon logic woven into a world Joey crafted… but now the real question. “How would I even get through to him?”

“Is…” The horned angel gave Sammy a shy, curious look. “ _Is_ he deaf? They _say_ he hears everything, but I’ve made a racket and had him wander by.”

A head shake. “No. He hears everything, but ignores the ordinary.” Sammy shrugged. “For all I know, this muddled mess of loops is just his latest idea of background noise.”

“Then… Henry. You might have to do something he can’t misunderstand.”

“The only thing I can think of is The End reel.” He rubbed a hand against his forehead with a pinched scowl. “I put it on the projector in his lair, it shows The End, Bendy disintegrates, and I wake up in Joey’s apartment.”

Sammy blinked. “Then… do something with the reel.”

“I _can’t_. It’s one of those fixed things I can’t fight, like with Norman and hiding in the booth before he broke his pattern, or starting the machine.”

The ink man held up a finger. “But it’s _your_ pattern, and you are the key to so much change. Norman broke those patterns because of you and I!” He gripped Henry’s shoulder and his eyes went wide. “You need to at least try. Do anything but put it on the projector. Throw it, break it, eat it for gods’ sake!”

Henry blinked. “I’m not  gonna eat the film reel, Sammy.”

“It’s a change from bacon soup.” His sentence broke into chuckling, but he cleared his throat with a smirk. “That’s your part. Now, our part?”

“Destroy the machine when the next loop starts. Right.” Allison smiled fondly at Tom. “It’s not some indestructible nightmare, is it?”

The wolf shook his head with a scowl.

“So… axes, pipes, wrenches? Would those be enough?”

He nodded, then pointed to the paper and pen expectantly.

The horned woman passed it to him and nodded.

Tom drew a bunch of tools from axe to wrench on the paper, then circled it a couple times.

“So… all of them? Every tool we can find?”

A nod and a thumbs up.

“Good! Okay, then we-”

“Then we what?” Susie groused slowly from the doorway with folded arms. Several heads snapped in her direction. “The machine only goes down to the demon’s lair after it’s started. I’ve seen it come from above, but not where it’s from.”

“I know where it sleeps.” Sammy muttered. “Suspended on chains and hovering out of sight until started. I can go to the place where it waits and… I don’t know, make noise until you all find it?”

“Why not just lead us there yourself?”

“Someone has to be there at the exit in case it doesn’t work.” He needed to be there for Henry if this fell apart at the seams and they were left with no way to go forward. In his heart, no longer foreign to him after so long, he knew this would work. There was nothing else to try. “Besides, if I’m already up there, you can find the exit.”

“If you lead, who’s bringing up the rear?”

The tired  searcher in a hat raised a flipper with a melted smile.

“You sure?”

A nod.

“Thank you, Jack. Okay. We have a plan.” Allison’s smile grew as she pointed with a lithe hand Henry’s way. “You destroy the reel, and before the next loop starts? _We_ destroy the machine.”

Henry huffed a laugh. “And if this doesn’t work, feel free to cut my head off.”

The horned woman gathered her things with a small smile. “We can get started on this whenever you’re ready, Henry.”

The cartoonist nodded and stood. He flinched at the twinge in his back. “I need to talk to Sammy alone for a bit. Not long. I’ll be out after that.”

Allison’s brows lifted with her smile. “Sure thing. We’ll see you out there.” She headed for the door, and Tom was quick to follow, shutting it behind him after Jack slimed his way out.

“Sammy.”

“Sheep?”

Henry drew a breath and fully looked at the man. “You’d know better than anyone if Bendy were really gone, right?”

Sammy gaped, but nodded. “I would. Even if he’s not my lord, I still feel him. Like a noose laid around my neck. The further from him I get, the looser the noose.”

“So… if this loop is the one, and you can’t feel Bendy anymore next one? That’s it. That’s your cue to gather everyone and destroy the ink machine.”

“Yes.” The ink man gave a slow nod and stood. “Yes. That sounds fantastic.”

Henry waited a moment to be sure there was no one waiting to listen in. He drew a breath and stepped closer to Sammy. “So, the plan’s clear?”

He gave a curt nod. “Very.” Sammy folded his arms behind his back. “What loop?”

“This one? Three hundred and thirty-three.”

“Halfway to Hell. It’s fitting, if you think about it.”

“I try not to.” Henry groaned. “If _this_ is just the halfway point, you can hit me with that axe all you want next loop.”

Sammy smiled. “No. No more loops.” His amber eyes glowed, and he drew close. “I can feel it, Henry. This is it.”

“You said that last time.” The cartoonist peered up at Sammy over his glasses. “What if-”

The ink man raised a fingertip to hover before Henry’s mouth. “No more ifs. No more loops. This is it. Just believe.”

Sighing softly, he nodded, and he pulled away the fingertip. “Alright.” Henry swallowed, jaw set. “I’ll see you on the other side, Sammy.”

Sammy nodded, gaze flicking from Henry’s mouth to the doors. “You’d better, my little sheep.”

... that was it, then? That couldn’t be right after all they’d had to do. “Sammy.”

Golden eyes looked to the side. “We can’t delay.”

“I’m not delaying anything.”

The ink man squinted. “Then what _are_ we doing?”

The cartoonist peered over his glasses, lips drawn tight. Then, quick as lightning, he grasped Sammy’s overalls in both hands and pulled him  down for a  hard  kiss.

Sammy stayed still with arms spread like a bird in mid takeoff… then he melted into the warmth and softness he’d been hoping for. He pulled the man tightly to him and dug his fingers into the muscles of his back.

Henry pulled back and  felt Sammy clutch his arms. He smiled fondly and put their foreheads together.  “ No one around. Thought you might want one .”

Inked hands rubbing mosstone arms,  t he  musician muttered. “I leave  blackness on whatever I touch.” Henry didn’t deserve the scorn of those who couldn’t understand. Contempt boiled in his gut, familiar and foreboding. “I’d tell the world if I could, but having them think less of you… I won’t stand for it.”

The cartoonist lay a hand to Sammy’s cheek. “I don’t give a damn what they think about it. If- _when_ this works, they won’t have a say in it, anyway.”

The musician placed a hand over the one against his cheek and turned his face to kiss the palm. He needed the warmth, the reassurance Henry’s firm hands gave.

“Besides.” The cartoonist peered over his glasses and felt his cheeks warm as he muttered, “I kinda like it when you leave marks.”

Sammy felt himself blush, amazed that he could even _do_ that, before pulling himself reluctantly from the hand to his face.

Henry pulled his hand away, only to find Sammy holding onto it like the lifeline it had become.

The one problem with having a heart was he couldn’t ignore its movements in his chest. It thundered like a war drum and danced in his throat… so suddenly as it started his hands trembled. “I… Henry. I-uh. Damn, of all times to forget how to speak!”

“It’s okay.” A warm smile spread across Henry’s face. “You don’t _have_ to say anything.”

He grit his teeth and gave him a pained look. “But I do! This is-” The ink man grumbled, mouth a tight line and brows sunk low. “It’s important!”

“Sammy. I know. Trust me. I know.” Henry’s tired smile could have lit the world. “And, I love you, too.”

He made a sharp, sad little noise, eyes bright in the dim room. He nodded and smiled. “Let’s end this the right way.”

\

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More wonderful fanart!
> 
> https://aofspades.tumblr.com/post/635775528013594625/another-piece-from-la-vie-en-noir-by  
> https://batimfan-lad.tumblr.com/post/634841779421757440/this-scene-was-magical-the-scene-that-actually  
> https://inkyvendingmachine.tumblr.com/post/635229074369937408/oop-im-still-thinking-about-this-fanfic-idk-if


	33. Trente-trois

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There must be another story I’m sure we would all like to hear.

**There must be another story I’m sure we would all like to hear.**

/

Getting backhanded into oblivion never got easier.

Neither did running around the lair and keeping out of reach of  the beast .

S mashing its head into pipes, dousing Henry with ink,  relentless chasing and roaring.  It never got easier, even with every step memorized, every task down to the second, every single mistake avoided.

He hadn’t been trampled to death. That was good.

The cartoonist stumbled into the throne room  and grabbed the near arm of the throne. Henry panted, always so exhausted after outrunning the blinded monster ready to rip him to shreds. But he reached down for the reel with no say in the matter. His entire frame trembled at the strain of just holding still  to slow the inevitable .

Henry  stared at the reel, unable to stop the progression of setting it onto the projector. His arm moved on its own, but… his fingers tingled, little pricks of sensation on the ends… he relaxed his hand, and the reel fell to the floor .  He sucked in a breath deep as the sea and let himself fall into the throne behind him, eyes shut from the growing headache in his skull.  His heart thundered to keep up with the rest of him.  Dropping the reel nearly knocked him flat from the tension set loose.

The creaking, deep footfalls of the ink demon drew closer. Cautious, shy almost, as they grew louder and louder.

Henry opened his eyes with great difficulty and sighed.  “Bendy.” 

The ink demon paused, a massive hand lifted in confusion. It turned its head to spy the reel and then turned to look at the screens that always spelled its doom. It growled curiously and shifted to rest on its elbows. While its sides heaved from the sheer weight of its bestial form, it waited. It watched without eyes. Its useless back legs hung limp and bent oddly on the floor.

“I’m tired of this, just like you.” He leaned forward to rest an elbow on his knee. “I wanna help you. I _need_ to help you… but I don’t know where to start.” Falling back, his body aching after another round of fighting off the demon in the other, inky rooms. “Please… please show me, or tell me, just anything that can help.”

The ink demon smacked its lips and adjusted its stance, imagined brows scrunching not from rage but concentration. Its strange, wide jaw worked slowly. A blackened, slimy tongue worked in the barbed maw as the ink demon tried in vain to speak. To make words and not garbled groans. Its jaw wasn’t fixed in that perfect, wide smile. It could bellow and snap, but now it tried something else. It tried as hard as Henry just had.

Henry blinked and gave a dry swallow.

The ink demon pulled its lips in tight, making a popping noise and grunting, trying to finagle a word from its maw. It moaned, and tried one more time. “Pa… pa…”

Henry blinked. “What?”

The demon whined and army crawled forward, before raising a claw to point to Henry.

“Me? You think I’m…” But he was, wasn’t he?

Bu t Bendy wasn’t done yet, it seemed. The beast lifted its hands and stuck out long, knobby claws to form a square, then it dropped a hand to point at Henry on c e more. No, not at  _ Henry _ … a t what he had in his back pocket. 

He nry reached back slowly, hand shaking, then pulled the seeing tool up to give the beast before him a good, long look.

It had  a mark, a single word in small, burning gold print on its forehead.

INNOCENT

And looking down further, he found the outline of a heart in the center of its chest.

The tool lowered and fell to the ground, clattering loudly but so distant to the cartoonist’s ears.  It all clicked into place. The two, quick grunts the demon had made, the frustration it showed at not being able to say  a  thing .  Two word s, one written, one spoken ,  and  a symbol  opposite to  Henry’s own gold mark s …  It all made such wonderful, agonizing sense. “Yeah.”  Henry’s eyes welled up, and he held his arms open to the demon. “I’m… I’m p apa.”

The demon whined and slunk forward before pressing the bulk of its head to Henry’s chest. Knobby, wide hands wrapped behind the man’s back and clung for dear life.

Henry lay over the demon’s horns and let the beast hold him. “I’ve got you, Bendy.” The chilled feeling of the ink snaked upwards, but he shut his eyes to it. “I-it’s gonna be okay. I’m here. Papa’s here.” Henry went limp as everything went dark around him. The ink swallowed him completely, but the dark didn’t scare him. It felt better than the blinding light that meant he’d been sent back to Joey’s apartment. He had someone with him, holding him tight as everything melted away.

.

.

.

Henry awoke… _somewhere_. It wasn’t Joey’s apartment, thank god.

It wasn’t rotted sepia and wood but a softer, stormy gray. Familiar, somehow.

So… not the studio, either. Okay.

Henry rolled onto his side and pushed himself onto his knees. Time to get his bearings, figure this new place out.

Nothing but silver and shades of gray. Gray, with trees, fences in the distance, tombstones-

Wait. Hold on.

Tombstones?

“How the hell…” But the longer he looked around, the more it made sense. Of course it felt familiar; he’d helped draw this place back before he left the studio!

So… he was in Tombstone Picnic. So then, where was Bendy?

If he remembered it right, and he knew he did, the toon cut off in the middle, and Bendy was cornered near a large boulder.

The boulder itself was a few yards away, luckily enough! To be fair, it wasn’t a vast graveyard to start with. Henry strode to the boulder, catching faint movement on the other side of it.

The man didn’t know his heart could still race after all this time. Making his way there, Henry Stein braced himself for whatever the little devil darlin’ could have in store. They were on his turf now, the turf he’d been made for, at least.

B endy’s legs stopped shaking, and  he lifted his head to look up.  A shadow, tall and dark, fell over him.  H is small frown broke into a wide, excited grin  as he found  a stunned man some yards away .  He bounced on tiny shoes with clenched f i sts raised to his chest, close to vibrating where he stood.

The cartoonist stared and blinked. He felt… familiarity, closeness. No fear or the desire to flee but the urge to get closer. He gulped and took a step forward. “Uh… hi.”

The lil devil  whistled and scrambled over t o Henry like a  frantic puppy.

The cartoonist couldn’t quite wrap his head around what was happening… but after all he’d been through he had to at least try to. “Bendy. There you are. It’s… it’s how I made you, too.” Cute little imp, with an infectious smile and mischief on his mind.

The demon nodded with a whistle, gloved hands to his hips. He stuck out a hand to shake, pie-cut eyes wide.

Henry, still bewildered by the switch to 2D, stuck out a shaky hand and grasped it gently.

Bendy took this as a cue to squeeze Henry’s hand with all his might and drag the man to his knees before engulfing him in a hug. His little feet kicked excitedly as they left the ground.

“Oof! Hey, bud.” The might of the tiny toon shocked the cartoonist. He still gladly returned the hug. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Bendy.” He pulled back and looked the little toon in the face. “Do you still know me?”

Bendy nodded so hard his head rattled. He drew a dotted outline of his head in space and booped Henry on the nose.

“You _do_ know me!”

Bendy nodded with a bright grin… but it faltered when Henry started tearing up.

“Bendy, I’m so sorry. I never should have let Joey take you from me. I didn’t know any of this would happen. You gotta believe that.”

Bendy reached into his built-in pockets and pulled out a hanky.

The man huffed a laugh and dabbed an eye. “Thanks.”

The little devil posted both hands to his hips and tapped a foot with a scowl. He pointed at Henry and then walked two fingers across his palm. Bendy shrugged, pouting.

“Yeah… I left you. I’m sorry I ever did.”

The demon raised a brow.

“I couldn’t hire a lawyer to get the rights to you back. Joey had his own legal department that made it impossible for me to have-” Seeing the confusion on the toons face, Henry cleared his throat. “There were too many bad guys on Joey’s side. I couldn’t fight them all by myself, and I regret that more than anything.”

The little devil let out a whistle that went from high to low, face brimming with understanding.

That… raised an uneasy question. If Bendy knew that Henry left, what else did the lil darlin’ know about outside?  “Do you know what’s happening outside of this place,  D arlin’ ?”

Bendy frowned in thought, a finger tapping at his chin. With a snap of his fingers, a thought bubble appeared over his head. A simplified and rapid replay of what happened in the studio played.

“Oh… oh you’re all caught up, huh?”

A nod and a pleased smile as he finally took back his hanky.

That saved him a lot of time. “...is there a way out of the studio? I need to get everyone trapped there back where they need to be. How do I do that?”

The little devil nodded, the thought bubble showing Joey getting grabbed by a massive Bendy hand and dragged out of sight, complete with a slide-whistle sound effect.

“...you want Joey?”

Bendy nodded with a toothy frown, his widows peak flat over his eyes. He crouched like a boxer and whirled his fists, ready to rumble.

“There’s no other way?”

A head shake.

“... not even me in Joey’s place?”

Bendy paused, still as a single frame.  He looked… disappointed in the man. Little, gloved hands raised to ask  a question, but gestures only carried the conversation so far.

“I hate to say it,” Henry smiled sheepishly. “But this would be easier if you could talk.”

Bendy  blinked, before tapping under his chin in thought. He let out a squeak and a lit bulb popped up over his head. The little imp grabbed Henry’s hand,  gave a wink and spun Henry with all of his might.

Okay. Motion blurs when you were a three-dimensional human were… awful. He didn’t have bones for a whole second of smudgy spinning. But Henry came to a stumbling stop, arms out to keep himself from tumbling to the ground.

Staring straight down at the ground showed a perfectly drawn sidewalk, Raising his eyes to the world before him, the cartoonist found himself in the small, vibrant, silver city that the Bendy movie had taken place in. Diner that way, library the other way, stores lining both sides of main street, leading down the road to a tall hillside, topped with a beautiful tree that overlooked the farm Boris lived on. Looking past that, perfectly puffy clouds floated above. It looked to be about sunset, colorless of not.

“Well, pops! Whatcha think?”

Henry froze. He _knew_ that voice. The one from the flop of a movie that finally tanked the Studio for good. He turned around, and braced himself.

Bendy was beaming, hands on hips, and pie-cut eyes shut. “Not bad, eh?”  He buffed the gloved fingers of one hand to his bean-shaped body. “Gotta say, it’s nice havin’ a voice that don’t sound like a grizzly bear.” He opened his eyes, and his grin grew. “Don’t leave me waitin’!”

“Bendy.”

“The one and only!” He opened an eye. “And you’re Henry! The guy what made me!” His grin turned cheeky. “Don’t tell me that lil’ spin made ya lose the last two minutes!”

“No, I… I got it.”

“Good!” He grabbed Henry’s hand and tugged him to the hill at the edge of the town, arm stretching to keep the man from stooping over. “Cuz we got stuff to sort!”

He swallowed. “Yeah. We do.”

“So, first things, first!” Bendy held up a finger with his free hand. “I got no idea how that ol’ machine or that ink work, but they’re how I ended up on your side of the screen, so don’t ask.” He hopped over a fallen log, the arm holding Henry’s hand stretching like a slinky to not pull him over. “Letter numbah B, Joey’s a jerk to the core, so don’t feel bad for that stinkpot.” A second finger popped up.

“Yeesh, the mouth on you.”

Bendy’s head spun on a swivel, neckless and smiling. “Pops, you oughta hear me mad! Nuffin’ but bike bells and seal barks! But anyway! Three! Never meant to hurt ya, I just gotta say that now. I was hoppin’ mad with the whole studio! Got plopped out of my home and lookin’ like a ball of licorice? Goin’ from genius prankster to spooky halfwit? Nobody wantin’ to play games or cause mischief? No friends? No laughter? No thanks!”

“You were a fright, bud.”

A humorless snicker.  “ Joey didn’t like how I looked much either, pops.  Ya can thank your buddy boy Buddy for lettin’ me out! It was dark in that closet. But Thomas? He w as n’t so bad. Tried to be nice sometimes. Nicer’n Joey.”

Henry frowned. “So… you _weren’t_ trying to hurt me?” They’d come to the top of the hill, taking shade under the sprawling willow on top.

The imp let go and did a pirouette. “Was at first! I just knew ya were intruding on my terf! But soon as I figured who ya were, I didn’t wanna hurt ya!” He frowned and crossed his arms. “But you try huggin’ someone with scary arms like those. Couldn’t think straight with my brain all muddled ‘n stuff. Took a million loops to say one measly lil word!”

“Three hundred-and-thirty three.”

A blink from the little imp. “You were countin’?”

A shrug. “Not much else to do.”

“Other than snuggle up with Sammy Lawrence, ya mean?” He drew the words out, a smirk growing to take up half his face in a perfectly aligned cartoon grin. He gave a bob of his eyebrows for good measure.

“Oh, my god.”

“Y’know, I didn’t think that loony was ya type, but I ain’t one to judge.”

“Bendy.”

“Yup!”

The man took a deep breath. “I… you got me confused, bud.”

“How so?”

The man squinted. “Back in the graveyard, you said, er, showed you didn’t wanna hurt me.”

“Yup!”

“...why not?”

The demon blinked. “Do ya want me to? I got a mallet behind me if ya really-”

“No, no!”

“I could get a baseball bat, or a good ol’ fashioned bear trap! Pick ya poison!”

He waved his hands before him with a chuckling huff of surrender. “I’m confused about why I’m not… in trouble?”

“Well, das an easy one.” Bendy’s bright grin simmered to a genuine smile. “Cuz ya loved us. Ya made us. We know you as well as you know us. Somethin’ bad musta gone down on your side when you weren’t the one givin’ us movements no more. Couldn’t find ya nowhere! Not the story boards, not the pencil tests, sure ain’t in the writing!”

Henry’s heart  sank at the implications. “So… you know you’re not… real?”

“Up-up up! Not real on _your_ side of the screen!” A gloved finger booped Henry’s nose with a wide grin. “We’re as real here as you are out there, pops! But we ain’t meant to cross over. Heck, I don’t even know how you wound up here! I just wanted my darn hug!”

“Can I get back to my side?”

“Aw, ya bored already? Well, can’t say I blame ya for wanting to get back! Sammy sure is sweet on ya.” He wiggled his eyebrows with a lopsided smile.

Henry flushed and rubbed a hand to his neck. “Jeez.”

A gloved hand gripped Henry’s wrist. “But I ain’t the only one wantin’ a word!” He came to a stop at the top of the hill, putting a finger to his grinning lips and pointing around the trunk.

Henry’s brows lifted at the familiar snores of Boris the wolf. Looking around the trunk slowly, the man found that the wolf had set up a hammock and was peacefully dozing away.

Bendy then stuck his pinkies in his mouth and blew to let fly a shrill whistle.

The wolf  flailed his limbs and spun in the hammock before he  belly-flopped into the earth with a grunt and grumbled. “Ben, ya don’t gotta go startlin’ a guy like-” He paused,  ears perked at the sight of Henry . “Wait a minute. How’d  _ he _ get here?”

Bendy grinned proudly. “Magic.”

The wolf beamed. “Well, golly! You’re a special kind of magic if you got Henry here!” The wolf grabbed the man’s right hand with both of his and shook with all his might. “Good to meet ya, Henry!”

“Careful now, Boris.” A sweet voice called from above. “That might hurt his bones.”

Bendy grinned up at the slowly falling cloud. “There she is! Guess she heard me.”

“...yeah.” Alice had been the only one with a proper voice. 

Alice stepped off the cloud with dainty strides, stopping short and looking up at Henry.  She smiled warmly at  him ,  but all he heard was Allison  when she spoke . “Henry ? ”

He nodded dumbly.

Alice giggled. “It’s nice to finally meet you, creator.”

Creator. You traitor. The creator lied to us. How was he supposed to apologize? “I… Alice?”

“Mm?”

“I….” He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

His smile grew strained. “Figures. You guys seem to know more than I do.”

“Well, I can’t be mad at _you_ , Henry. It’s not a good idea to be on the wrong side of the screen too long. It can make you a little… kooky.”

Bendy frowned up at her. “How’d’ya figure that?”

She glared without venom, small eyes lidded. “How many times did you try to kill  Henry ?”

Boris snorted a laugh, “Like we ain’t all guilty o’ that!”

“Wait, you all knew what was happening?”

Alice nodded. “Yes. But because of how we, er… came out? None of us could think straight.”

“I made you how you are _now_ , not the way you are out there.”

The angel nodded and  waved his worries off with a hand . “Oh, we know! That was that mean  ol’  Mister Dre w. ” Her smile returned. “But it’s good to finally meet you!”

“But…” He shook his head and looked down at the town the trio called Home. So full of life that he had no hand in, but they all felt familiar somehow. It somehow made the guilt settle harder in his gut. “How come you’re not mad at me?”

The angel  squinted . “Mad? Why?”

“I left you with Joey, and he hurt you. All of you.”

“Well… yeah?” Bendy piped up. “But getting’ in a twist and going for ya throat won’t change that.”

“Guys, I left, and it made Joey go off the deep end. Maybe he’d have been fine if I stayed-”

“Doubt that’d change nothin’, Hen. Listen up,” Boris grumbled and slapped a hand to Henry’s shoulder. “There’s a story my pa told me a long time ago when I was a pup. He was a pup himself when there was some fox chasing a cute little bunny. Well, he chased the fox off and took the bunny off to the woods where it’d be safe. He sets it down and not a second later? A hawk comes out of the sky and scoops the bunny up!”

Alice facepalmed, but Bendy shot Boris a look. “This story goin’ somewhere?”

“Yup! You can do good and still have bad things happen.”

“Yeesh, what a bummer.”

Henry chuckled. “Yeah… but it’s not a bad thing to keep in mind.”

The wolf stepped back and puffed his chest at the small pinch of praise. “See that Ben? I got some good ol’ wisdom in me!”

“Yeah and half the bakery in ya, too.”

“Bendy, behave yourself.” But Alice was fighting a smile.

“No way, toots. Parta my charm is bein’ a pest!”

Henry chuckled at the trio who all put their focus back on him.

Alice folded her hands before her hips. “I wish we had more time to talk to you, Henry.  But keeping you here too long isn’t good for you.”

“Wrong side of the screen,” the man murmured. “I know. One more thing. The people who were, uh… part of you? Buddy and Susie and all of them? Now that you’re back here-”

“They just look like us, dear. Don’t worry. They’re alright.”

“Ya sure did!” Boris gave the man a squeeze, grinning brightly. “Don’t you worry about us none, ya hear? We’re where we oughta be, so we’re good to go!”

Alice sniffed quietly before joining the hug.

Bendy squished the toe of one foot at the ground, pouting at Henry. “Don’t like having to say goodbye so soon, pops.” He managed a tiny smile. “But at least we got to meet ya. Not every toon can say they did that!” He popped up into the air at the final word, and flung his arms around the cartoonist’s neck.

Henry’s eyes blurred, and he hugged the trio to him. “Love you, bud. Love all of you.”

“Love ya too, Henry.” He hugged the man around the neck. “Oh, and you let Sammy know if he breaks ya heart, I’ll give him something to _really_ pray about.”

Even through the tears, Henry chuckled. Eyes shut and held by creations he loved, Henry Stein faded from the silver, two-dimensional world on a laugh.

.

.

.

Henry awoke, calm but stiff on the small bed. Colors filled his vision, and he sat up. Swinging his legs over the bed, he stood slowly, pulling his glasses from the small table beside it.

This was it. All he had to do was stall for time.  The whistling of a once-playful tune met his ears, and Henry took a breath and rounded the corner.  All the pictures and awards he could think of had been read over a hundred times, but he’d do it all again if it bought the other side of the door a chance to destroy the machine.

All he could give the denizens of the studio now was _time_.

\


	34. Trente-quarte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lighter side of Hell.

**The lighter side of Hell.**

/

S ammy awoke in his room in the Lost Harbor. 

But it  _ wasn’t _ like the  three hundred and thirty-three times before.

His mind was horribly, blessedly silent. The oily, painful tug that had been the Ink Demon was different. Not the tight wires of dread that it had been. The tight fist waiting to splatter him was now an open hand waving goodbye.

He wasted no time in getting to the  upper floor ,  banjo strapped to his back  and alarm clock in one hand .

G etting up to the higher floor was no small feat now that the portals were off the table. He couldn’t risk losing any part of himself when they were so close.

But the alarm clock kept time, ticking away to when it would go off. His own idea, just to be sure he got the timing right. Sammy had time signatures engrained into his bones, but this needed precision even he couldn’t risk.

The machine swung as if blown by a soft, summer breeze. The chains and rafters creaked from its weight.  It hung, lifeless,  out of sight, harmless until started.  No one was going to. Not after today. 

It was a hole going straight down, all the way to hell.  And he knew he had a duty to uphold.

The alarm clock went off, and he silenced the painful B flat with a kick of his boot, cutting it off as it hit a wall. Amber eyes watched the door, the exit that never opened for any of them, just for his little sheep.

It remained firmly shut.

The musician grinned.

Sammy Lawrence  spun his banjo around and played his heart out. Every song he knew. If they could hear him as well as he hoped, then they’d come. They had to.

He played until his wrists, and fingers begged for mercy.  There was… noise. So distant but there. Those lost below were searching for the machine, but they couldn’t quite find it. Couldn’t quite locate the very last step. What could be louder  than a properly played banjo ? He couldn’t run to the music room and blast it through the sound system. They had to come to the hole in the floor. What could be louder than his banjo? A Trumpet? Could he even play it in this state?

... then it clicked. That last loop, he’d found Henry after the man screamed. He’d heard him all the way down in the harbor and came running. Sammy Lawrence could play anything well enough, but his voice? Well… he wasn’t at all unique in the singing department, but he was _loud_. He’d always been loud. The backing background vocal to many old choir performances. The strong and strident tenor that filled out rounder notes for baritones. 

So he sang.

“If it were up to me, I’d leave here eternally. If it were up to me, I’d pack  up a sack and flee.” He hated how rusty his voice sounded, how old this song was to his tongue, but it was  loud enough to carry to the bottom of the Machine’s path, all the way down to Hell . “But if I’m honest, darlin’, with you I’m just  so swell.”  Sammy took a breath and belted to the rafters, “ You’re the reason there is even a lighter side of hell.”

He could hear them. Sloshing and footsteps.  Groans and growls. Allison’s bright voice above the din  to lead those lost in the dark to the light. The distant, faint ticking of a film reel.  A low, two-toned voice humming along.  The clatter of pipes, axes, wrenches… they made their way to the machine.

“Now, you call me confused, I can’t say you’ve got it wrong.” For the first time in the longest time, Sammy Lawrence felt honest-to-god hope rising in him. “Me and my foolish heart, just a-singin’ this sad song.” He turned to face the exit door and knew from the growing sounds behind him that he wasn’t alone. _None_ of them were. “It’s a silly feelin’, one I know so very well, darling when you’re with me I’m in the lighter side of hell.”

W hen the wrath of the trapped came alive and drowned him out with clanging, righteous fury, the musician knew he’d done it right. 

He’d keep playing  until they came up t o him . He’d keep it up for as long as it’d take.

It didn’t take long at all. Maybe a minute. The combined force of a hundred trapped souls with as many bits of fury and cold steel they could find, when something cracked. Sharp and deep, a perfect C, before more cracking clangs rang out. There was a  hiss of damp air being pushed aside as a massive ob j ect fell to the floors below. It was quiet for two, three minutes. Sammy didn’t even play a note, waiting with wide eyes and a rising heart.

A deafening crash of metal and gears as the corpse of the ink machine finally crashed down and took the entry to Bendy’s lair with it, followed by cheers from further down the hole.

So Sammy Lawrence grinned and played on. The sounds of marching grew closer with every strum and pluck.

Time to finish this horror show.

\

The man at the sink didn’t turn around to greet his so-called friend. "Henry? So soon? I didn't expect you for another hour yet. Now you're just trying to impress me.”

Henry stood still, burning holes in Joey’s robed back. He strained his ears to find some sign the door would open. He couldn’t fight the script forever, try as he might.

“I know... I know... you have questions. You always do! The only important question is this: Who are we, Henry? I thought I knew who I was... but... the success _starved_ me. Nothing left but lines on a page. In the end, we followed two different roads of our own making. You, a lovely family... me... a crooked empire. And my road burned. I let our creations become my life.”

T he cartoonist  tried to will his legs to move, to let this be the point where he could fight back. His body betrayed him, stock still and unable to get free of this hold that forced him through this monologue hundreds upon hundreds of times.

“The truth is, you were always so good at pushing, old friend... pushing me to do the right thing. You should have pushed a little harder.” Joey, propped on an elbow, extended his hand to the door in the wall. “Henry -”

“ _No_.” 

A single word tumbled out of his mouth, and it was enough. It broke t he rule of silence that had bound Henry to the cycle.  One word, now a guillotine .  It felt just like being in the tunnel after a death, but so much  stronger .  As solid as a set of eyes finally  taking their focus off of  _ him _ .

The liar and the cartoonist stared at one another, stalemate for but a moment in time.

Joey lowered his arm to lie on the counter. “No.”

The tension and rigidity of the loops peeled away, and Henry at last took a step forward. “ _No_ , Joey. You didn’t _need_ me to push you. You _needed_ to learn self-control. All you did was drag people to your level. Trapping them with contracts or letters to get your way, to keep them where you wanted them. This is why I left over thirty years ago; the moment you’re not in control, the moment you’re not the center of attention, you turn into a monster.” Henry clenched his fists at his sides. “Not anymore. Not after this.”

Joey Drew was silent and frowning. He patted the counter and leaned forward on folded arms with a sigh. “... seems, old friend, you’re missing the key to all of this.” The wrinkled face twisted into a grin, tight and toothy. “I made all of this. That door, my crooked empire, all me. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t sorry for what happened to you and all those workers.” Joey drummed his fingers on the counter. “But _sorry_ doesn’t put you on any map. You may think you’ve found a way out, but even if you can break free this one time, you’ll go through that door, eventually. No where else you can go.”

“Yeah, you made this place, but I made those characters. You got a hold of them and turned them into monsters.” Henry felt heat rise in his neck. “Why even do this? Why drag people back to this place? Why torture them and me?”

Joey shrugged. “You’re right about those characters being yours. You had a hand in how this came to be!” He smiled and pointed at the cartoonist. “I hoped having the right personalities thrown in would help… but it only got to the halfway point. Alice Angel an insane mess, Boris the wolf was _almost_ perfect! Until he broke my hand.” He glared at the door, then focused back to Henry. “Clones need souls to work. That soulless thing was never gonna be Bendy. Not without you. But, it’s the damnedest thing, Henry! It never went how I’d hoped. You did the opposite of what I’d intended, and now? We’ve got nothing, but a broken story… and last I checked, _I_ wrote the scripts for _my_ show. All you did was give my ideas life.”

Henry’s mouth had gone dry.  “That doesn’t explain  _ why _ .”

“Why? Well, who’d have been a better Bendy than the man that made him?”

Bile rose in his throat, but Henry gulped it down.  “ That’s w hy  you put me through  hell ?  For your stupid idea? ”

“You mean the loops?” The old man shifted stiffly, a hair away from being sheepish or honest. “I hoped you’d give up, eventually. The only reason I gave you the reel was so we could try again in the next one! But the more loops I put you through, the farther away you got. You never gave up, and that’s your own fault. But… well, too late now, Henry.” 

“And the gold ink? What was that?”

“Come on, you’re smarter than this! You made those toons but no one even knows who you are? Henry, that one’s easy!”

“Just tell me.”

At the bitter tone of the creator, the man in a robe shook his head. “Come on. Invisible ink from an invisible man. Simple as that.”  Joey’s grin turned razor sharp. “Don’t think  it matters.  Now tha t you broke the cycle , it’ll just be a footnote for the next loop.  Just gotta tweak a few things and try again with a cleaner slate! I know you’ll do what I need you to this time, old friend. ”  He paused and leaned upwards a little. Despite his age, his eyes were as  keen and cruel as ever. 

“I won’t.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“I will _never_ go through that door again.”

“You will. Eventually. Maybe after breakfast or after a nice long nap. But there’s only one outcome.” Joey sighed, brows raised as he pointed to Henry with an upturned hand. “Truth is, you’re powerless. You always were.”

Hands shook just a pinch, then stilled to stay as clenched fists. “...you’re right. I’m powerless.”

Joey sneered but hid it with a softer,  self-assured smile. 

There was a knock on the door. Joey’s face fell.

Henry’s eyes lit up at the sound from the studio door. “But they’re not.”

Someone rattled the handle wildly from the other side. Then they were tugging until the wood groaned. When that didn’t work, a metal hand punched the wood of the door open, sending splinters into the air. Henry scrambled out of the way, but Joey wasn’t so lucky from his place behind the counter and fell.

Tom moved out of the way for Norman to shoulder the door apart as inky-ridden amalgamates poured into the small room. Somewhere in the cacophony, Susie shrieked for blood.

Sammy made a beeline for Henry and grasped him in a hug that pressed all air from his lungs. “Did he harm you?”

“No. He tried talking me to death.”

Amber eyes glowed with hellfire. “Good.” The musician let Henry go, his grip firm to his arms. “They heard my song and came running.”

“You got everyone?”

“Every soul left to be freed is here. Jack’s bringing up the rear.”

Henry hugged back, the cool silk of the inky body so welcomed in the room's stuffiness. “Good.”

They broke apart as lost ones and searchers poured into the house, scrambling to get as far from that exit door as they could. Some laughed, some wept, most were silent as they went. Jack, hat firmly affixed to his head, slimed his way to the two. He tugged Henry’s pant leg and gave a thumbs up.

“That’s everyone?”

A nod.

“You’re sure?”

Who knew ink could glare?

“Alright… I...” But the sensation of all those eyes upon him, all those scowling, unhinged faces. “I-”

Sammy blinked. “Henry?”

Henry gripped Sammy’s hand and took a steadying breath. “I can’t push him through that door.” Something flickered gold out of the corner of his eye. He looked back at the doorway, brows furrowed.

The musician  nodded, frowning hard . “I’ll do it. For  _ you _ .” He strode forward only to feel his hand being squeezed in a firm but gentle plea of ‘Don’t’. Sammy turned, brows raised in  shock . “Henry. We have to.”

“We don’t.”

“Henry!”

A firm squeeze. “No. _Look_.” He pointed to the doorway, still wide open. Beyond the broken frame, something… shifted.

The splinters of the doorway and frame clattered back together, drifting towards their proper places like a film thrown into reverse. The door and its frame were perfect once more. With a soft creak, it opened inwards, revealing… ink.

Ink,  enough to rival the ocean , swirled  u p and splattered the sepia walls. It climbed high and curled to the ceiling, spinning until it formed  the tunnel.  T he tunnel that followed Henry’s many deaths,  as a matter of fact . This time, there were no whispers or warm glow at the end that meant another turn. Only ice and  gaping blackness.

From the depths of the ruined doorway, something roiled at the other end. Quick as lightning, a massive, white gloved hand reached out of the blackness. It wasn’t the hand from the river, but a massive, pristine, two-dimensional glove. With wriggling fingers, it closed itself around Joey and hoisted him from the floor. Joey didn’t even have time to scream as the hand withdrew, and the door slammed shut.

A ll that remained was a  wooden door. Then it wasn’t. As quick as blinking, the studio door was a  scratchy  scribble on the wall, before the ink it was made from  glowed with molten gold and vanished. Quick as blinking. Easy as breathing. Just a blank wall.

Like nothing had happened.

Then everything happened.

The house, crammed to capacity in every room with ink people, shook like a snow globe in the hands of an angry child.

The loop ended with  a cramped room filled with panic-struck screams and a cut to perfectly normal black.

/


	35. Trente-cinq

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good morning, sunshine.

**Good morning, sunshine.**

\

“Hey. You okay?”

Henry stirred at the voice. He’d never heard it, but he somehow knew it. He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Dunno. Where am I?”

“New York. You need help?”

Hazel eyes opened wide, and he sat up sharply. His throbbing back reminded him that was a terrible idea. “Ow. Jeez… okay.” He looked up at the person who’d been speaking.

A skinny, pale teenager, remarkably tall with a mound of curly, brown hair. He blinked down at Henry. “Hi.”

Henry blinked back. “I… know you. I think.”

The teen stuck out his hand and pulled Henry to his feet. “You should. You bunked with me a hundred times.” A half smile quirked his lips. “But, yeah. I’m Buddy.”

The cartoonist froze. “... Buddy?”

A nod. “Yes.”

“Oh, my god!” Henry grabbed the young man in a hug. “We got out.”

Buddy hugged back. “Yep. There’s a lot of us.”

Henry pulled away, smiling brightly. “You’re human again.”

He nodded. “People are waking up. Dunno why I was first awake.”

“Let’s… let’s go.” The two headed into the group together.

There were so many people, bundled into groups and slowly coming to. Most were laying prone, some were supine, a couple fetal, but sectioned off into their own bunches.

In a group of about twenty, a man with a nice hat sat up and rubbed the back of his head with a grunt. “Jeez, what a head.”

Henry turned to the man, spying the hat in his free hand. “Jack?”

“Stein?” He blinked hard, then managed to get to one knee. “It worked?”

He huffed a laugh. “It worked.”

The man replaced his hat and smiled. “Thank you.” He sat on the grass, next to a young lady in a sundress with dark red ringlets. “I’mma wait here for the others. You come find me if you need me. Dunno why you would.” He squinted. “This here’s… I think she had the bassoon? I dunno.”

A man who’d woken up before Jack mumbled, “Margie. She had bassoon. I was an oboe.”

“All three of you are from the music department. Makes sense.” Henry nodded before looking around the empty lot. “Looks like _everyone’s_ in groups for where they worked.”

Jack didn’t look up but smirked. “Then Sammy ain’t far off.”

Henry didn’t have time to reply as someone some yards away let out a squawk.

“You’re joking! Really?” The sharp tenor rang out from the far end of the Music group. “Everyone _else_ came back with normal clothes, but not me. Oh no, I’m stuck with overalls from the forties and boots from god knows when!” A tall, thin man stood with an annoyed groan and stretched his arms. “Thank god there’s sunshine, or I’d freeze to death.”

That voice. “Sammy?” Henry called hoarsely.

The musician turned, sharp and slender. He gaped with wide, blue eyes. Then his sharp face split with an even sharper smile. “Henry!” He ran with long strides and halted just slightly out of arm’s reach. Excitement, wild but benign, crept up his features. “Henry. You did it. By god, i-it worked! We’re free!”

The cartoonist closed the gap and held the musician to him. “We did it.”

Sammy locked up at the grip on him, but relaxed enough to return it. He all but melted in his grasp. He perched his chin on a shoulder and let himself be held. No more ink or voices or the need to worship any man or demon. “It’s over.”

“Fellas.”

Both men turned to Buddy, who was staring down at the ground.

“Something’s up.”

The two let go of each other, Sammy setting a hand against Henry’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

Buddy pointed to the group of people who’d been off in a corner of the lot. “Uh, no one there is breathing.”

The two men looked at each other and made their way to the still group. There were several bodies, all intact but very much dead. Some in their Sunday Best, others in work clothes from decades past.

One, and older man with ligature marks around his neck.

Sammy gasped, pointing with a spidery hand. “That’s Grant.” He swallowed thickly before looking across at the dozen corpses. “Like I said, I don’t know how it worked, but… I guess when you feed a corpse into the machine, that’s all you get back.”

“Yup. Sounds right,” a low growl of a voice called out.

The blond turned to the gruff voice.

Sitting on the grass next to a pale blonde woman was a bull of a man. He looked to be in his fifties, with gray just touching the charcoal of his short, tight curls. His left arm ended before the elbow, a clean stump where the rest of the limb should have been.

Sammy squinted. “You’re Tom… right?”

He raised his left arm and pointed with the end of the stump. “Yup. You’re Sammy, there’s Henry, this here’s Allison.” His steel-gray eyes fell on Sammy and fixed him with a flat look. “Your singing’s rusty as an old fan belt.”

The thin man scoffed but bit his tongue.

“I saw her fall in and followed her. Dunno why my mind stayed, but I knew she needed me there.” Tom brushed his dark knuckles against the woman’s pale cheek. “My job to keep her safe.”

Henry swallowed. “Is she-”

“Out cold but alive.” Tom took his focus off them and placed it onto Buddy. “Who’re you?”

The teen looked up from his shoes for a second. “Buddy. The other Boris.” He blinked and turned to Henry a little. “I gotta find Norman.”

The cartoonist nodded. “You do that.”

“Okay.” The teen took off at a sprint that was all too familiar.

Tom sighed lowly. “I’ll get one of you if she needs help, but I got it for now.”

“Good.” Henry turned to Sammy, now realizing how bright his eyes really were. No longer glowing gold but glacial blue and so intent on his own. “Okay. We need to check on everybody here. See who we can find and name. Then… I don’t know.” He looked around with pinched brows. “There’s at least a hundred people here, Sammy.”

“Yes.” He gave his best reassuring smile, which felt more like a sneer. “Let’s get to work. I’ll find you.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

An hour into it, and the two had made plenty of progress. So many people remembered themselves and their friends, and every positive boosted their spirits just a little more.

Buddy, however, had some trouble finding Norman Polk. He couldn’t remember faces for the life of him, but Norman in the studio didn’t have a face, he had a projector!

“Norman.” He called out at a safe, non-shout volume. “Norman, it’s Buddy. Norman?”

“Hey.”

The teen turned to the hoarse, low drawl of a word. “Norman.”

The elderly black man grinned from where he sat against the fence. “Yep.”

Buddy crouched and grabbed the man’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“Don’t think anyone’d be okay after all that!” But he said it with humor, even with his eyes far off.

“Okay. Same here. Uh… you okay if I leave you alone?”

“Don’t have a cable to keep you close now, do I?”

Buddy cracked a smile. “Guess not.”

Norman patted the teen’s hand. “You go on. I’m not moving for a good long while yet. But good to see your real face.”

“You have a head now.”

Norman chuckled, a rasp of a noise. “That I do.”

“Okay. I’ll be back.”

“Get to it, Buddy.”

Buddy did, but he didn’t run this time. He didn’t want to startle the person he was searching for.

He walked over to a woman who’d set herself off from the rest of the groups. He saw her stand and take off running on wobbly legs but Norman was his first thought. She seemed familiar, but everyone did considering where they’d all come from. He stayed well away, out of arm’s reach. Her delicate hands brought to mind claws, even with short nails. He blinked. “You Susie?”

The raven nodded, eyes still frantic as they locked on his. “I am.”

Buddy gestured to himself with a splayed hand. “Buddy.”

The color drained from her face, and she backed away. “Jesus Christ.”

“Nope. Just Buddy. Uh, Daniel’s my actual name but-”

“Get away from me!” She scuttled away with a squeak.

The teen frowned. “Okay. But, uh, I’m not mad.” When she said nothing in return, he continued. “Okay, a little, but-”

Sammy made his way over the moment she raised her voice. Her squeal was hard to miss in the slow-to-wake crowd. He steered the increasingly confused teen away from Susie with a firm hand. “Buddy, did you find Norman?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Go back to him for now. I’ll handle this.”

The teen headed away without a word. Better than being yelled at.

The tall man took a breath and frowned, eyes leveling Susie with a scowl. “So then. You’re awake?”

“Y... yes. Very awake and…” She swallowed and took a step forward. “Sammy, I’m sorry.”

The blond sneered. “You’re gonna have to specify.”

Susie sneered back, driven by fear more than malice. “Right, like you did nothing wrong.”

Screw it. He had his spine back in more ways than one. Time to let fly! “Last I checked, I was trying to _fix_ what I did when I saw the loops were real. You took it as an opportunity to torture a kid so you could hurt the one person who could help.” He grit his teeth her way. “I had to fight my way back to sanity from the blackest pit of hell. You had your sanity and ignored it for your own idea of fun.”

“How was I supposed to believe Henry could free us? You didn’t offer any solid proof! You don’t know-” she jabbed a finger at him, eyes burning- “jack shit about what I went through as some stupid angel.”

He drew back and exhaled slowly. “Yeah. I don’t. And frankly, I don’t care.” He wasn’t like Norman, who’d seen a friend fall into the madness of the ink and understood to a point. He couldn’t even say he wanted to forgive Susie. Sammy shook his head at her. “We’re free. There’s nothing left to say to you.”

“Guess our little heart to heart meant nothing.”

“Like it meant anything before.”

The woman sniffed wetly and hugged herself from her spot by the tree. “Then leave me alone.”

He did and searched the crowd for Henry. He’d done plenty. He’d done enough. His little sheep was-

_No_. Don’t think like _that_. Don’t think _of_ that. Do not.

Henry was easy enough to spot. In the growing crowd, he stood out. His mosstone shirt had been a beacon to spot in the inky depths, and now it called him still. “Henry.”

“There you are.” Drawn out slowly like he’d found a missing cat. He patted a space of the fence beside him, giving a lopsided smile. “Take a break.”

A sigh. “Gladly.” But when he didn’t feel the cold chain-link against his back, he paused. A lithe hand reached back, and the musician pulled his banjo around. He blinked at it. “... well. Of all things to survive.” Adjusting his grip, the blond gave it a strum. “And still in tune. How about that?” He slid it to rest out over a shoulder. “Might be awhile before I play it up here.”

“Makes sense.” Henry smiled at the instrument, before finding Sammy’s hand.

The blond drew back and grimaced, brows sunk low. “I… not here.”

“Like I said, I don’t care what they think. But I won’t push, okay?”

Sammy pointedly looked away, and slid his icy, shaking hand into Henry’s.

Henry smiled softly with a small squeeze.

It slowly sunk in that no, he would not be struck down for doing what was in his nature. “Like anyone here would say a thing to their savior.” Sammy sniffed.

“We can talk this out when we have a minute free, okay? Let’s just… I don’t know, find a payphone?”

Sammy swallowed the lump in his throat. “Fantastic. Anyone have a dime? Need to make a phone call to… oh, god, who do we even call?”

“Dunno that, but I got a dime! Won’t get ya far for a phone call, tho. And hey! Joey didn’t say nothin’ about a whole reunion!”

Henry and Sammy both turned to find none other than Wally Franks, much older and just as clueless, in the fence's opening.

Henry grinned at the man and made his way over, letting go of Sammy’s hand. “Wally! There you are!”

“Yeah, here I am!” He looked over Henry’s shoulder, brows up in shock. “Jeez, what happened over there?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Remember what? I just got here!” He pulled a letter out of his pocket and held it up to Henry. “Got a letter from Mr. Drew to come by for a visit. Phoned him last month sayin’ it’d take a while for me to get up to the old place.”

Henry blinked, eyes wide. “You… weren’t here already?”

“Nope! Took off for Florida after Bendy-Land went under. And it looks like that was the best thing I coulda done! Smart enough to know when to jump ship!” The former custodian grinned at the approaching Sammy. “Sammy! I haven’t seen you in forever! You ever find that key ring I lost?”

The blond felt the familiar irritation bubbling up, but he barked out a laugh. “My god, some things never change!”

“Says the guy that ain’t aged a day since I last seen him! What are ya even wearin’?” He crossed his arms and grinned cheekily at Henry. “So Henry, mind filling your favorite janitor in?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Meh. I got time. But as soon as we get this sorted, I’m outta here!”

/

Henry folded the story for the police and the press down into something believable; Joey Drew had slowly lured multiple people who had worked for him prior to his dwelling, a secluded and small house near the old studio of the same name. Once in his home, he’d drugged them and taken them to the studio itself, keeping them locked up in the bowels of the building. Henry, the latest addition, was able to escape after knocking Joey out and stealing his keys.   
  
When Joey Drew couldn’t be found, the police put out a warrant for his arrest… an arrest that’d never come. All the police found was an old machine, busted to bits and sitting in the former house of Joey Drew. The place looked the same as Henry remembered it from the hundreds of loops, save for the layer of dust on everything. Shoe prints were the only disturbance in the grime.

Believable story, if _heavily_ fabricated and filled with holes.

As for the truth? The FBI handled that part. They even handled the parts that made little sense. The feds wanted the situation handled as quietly as possible… and they had the funds to do it.

The men in black believed the truth. They even footed the bill for the motel until people could contact family members or get settled. If Henry didn’t know better, he’d think they’d dealt with something like this before.

But what _did_ Henry know? He’d felt like he’d spent years in the studio, but in reality, he’d been gone for two weeks.

Two weeks. It seemed so tiny.

First thing he did was call his daughter and let her know the public version of his sepia-toned nightmare, have her fill in her little brother when she had a chance. He’d give Amber and Chesterthe full version, eventually.

Funny how much the feds wanted the whole thing kept quiet. They’d slipped a business card under every door with phone numbers for anything the freed people could need, from where to call for a lawyer to where to call for therapy.

One by one, people filed out of the motel.

Henry offered all of them his address and phone number. That little sketch pad had some paper left, even after so many doodles and sketches filled it out.

Shawn didn’t even stay a day. He called a cab and headed out the second he got the all-clear from the feds doctor.

Lacy and Bertrum were gone after a few days, workaholics to their cores and eager to be together again.

Buddy managed to get in touch with his mother and got Henry’s address and number before heading out. But not before hugging the older man with all his might and promising to call.

Norman was openly welcomed to stay with Buddy and his mother until he could better figure his future out. The elderly man hadn’t had a family to go back to, so Buddy stepped up when he got the chance, so long as Norman didn’t put a leash on the kid.

Allison and Tom took the week to place calls and figure out what they’d lost while trapped in hell. Tom’s electrician business had somehow survived, giving the couple something to work on and fall back to. A miracle in its own right. They’d been trapped the shortest amount after Henry, but seven years was still too long. But, they had each other and enough to have a life to go back to.

Jack’s sister was ecstatic to have her baby brother in one piece. She had him loaded into her car and headed to New Jersey within three days. No idea if the mustachioed man got an address for Henry or not gone in such a hurry!

Susie called her brother, and that was that. She had Henry’s address, but time would tell if she’d ever use it. She didn’t say a word as she got in the car and was driven out of sight.

Everyone else? Well…. Henry didn’t know their names. Didn’t know their stories. But he had his number and address available to all who might need it.

That left Henry and Sammy, with two entire days left on the feds dime.

Henry put up for another week. Just for he and Sammy. Just to talk things out, figure out where they were now that they were free. The feds paid for the doctor to hang back in case anything new cropped up, but after that? They’d have to call a number on the card.

Motel chairs weren’t comfortable, but they beat a booth with a demon by the door. The little two-top by the window did the job… even if it reminded him of Buddy’s hide out.

How long would this take for him to shake? To stop seeing sepia and sharp shadows?

The bathroom door opened and out stepped Sammy. His hair wasn’t the rats’ nest it had been, but it couldn’t be comfortable to have it tied up with a rubber band. The clothes only sort of fit, but they covered him. No more overalls or mask. Just blue eyes and a sharp smile.

Henry swallowed. “So… how are you feeling, Sammy?”

“I’m back to my blond bastard self, I can promise you that.” He counted four and four, fingers thumping out a tarantella. “Not the inky monster you fell for.”

Henry chuckled. “ _You_ fell for _me_.”

“Did not.” He did.

“You kissed me first.”

“You kissed back, little sheep.” Sammy froze at the slip up. Maybe the ink had lasting effects. He’d only know with time.

“Not the first time, but I came around by the second.” The cartoonist glanced over his glasses, brows raised. “You know… I wouldn’t mind if that was my new nickname.”

“If it were that simple, I wouldn’t be this nervous.” Sammy ran a hand over his hair, still shocked by the softness and the fact his tresses had returned.

Henry peered over his glasses. “Then what’s got you worked up?”

A sigh that filled the room, and the thin man sat across from him with a thud. “Down there… we could do what we wanted without fear of being torn apart for _just_ that.” Sammy tapped his fingers in a staccato rhythm, eyes downcast. “But here, where anyone can see us… well. Forgive me if I worry. What we have isn’t exactly… well. Safe. Up here, I mean.”

Henry’s warm hand grasped his, and he looked up.

Henry smiled sadly. “I understand. If you don’t want to pursue this anymore, I mean.”

Oh shit. “What?”

“I paid for an extra week, in case you changed your mind.” Henry broke eye contact. “If you needed time to sort things out that didn’t involve me, you’d have it.”

“Henry?”

“You’re allowed to say no. We don’t have to be anything but friends up here if you’re-”

“No!” The blond cried out, stricken. “No, that all came out wrong, I… I want this more than _anything_ , Henry!” He turned his hand to lace their fingers and stubbornly squeezed back. “But I’m not naïve. It’s our safety, our lives…” he trailed off. “I don’t know what I might do if someone tried to harm you because you chose me.”

“Things aren’t like the thirties, Sammy. There’s still a _lot_ to be careful about, but where I live, it’s not as bad.” Henry’s smile widened as he lay his other hand over Sammy’s. “I think you’ll like Pasadena. Right by San Francisco. There’s a lot of people like… us. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.” If the two lady ‘cousins’ living to his left meant anything.

“... really?”

“Really. And my neighbors know me as the man who made a comic strip for the Sunday paper.”

“Opposite side of the country, quiet neighborhood. I can get behind that.” Sammy looked back up at Henry, and ice blue met warm hazel with hope. “If anyone has an issue with us… well, push comes to shove, I’m good with an axe.”

“Please don’t kill anyone.”

“No promises.”

“Sammy.” But any scolding tone he used dissolved into a chuckle. “No one’s nosy in my neighborhood. The back yard’s fenced in with a garden. We have a community pool, too. Good beaches, a couple of jazz clubs.”

Sammy smiled, feeling his cheeks tinge with pink. “It sounds lovely.”

Henry’s lids lowered a fraction, the smirk growing. “There’s a standing piano in my living room.”

Oh, sweet talker. “... does it work?”

“It needs attention, but the best things do.”

“Sold.” Steadying his breathing, the blond leaned in and gave Henry an almost shy kiss on the lips. A peck, if barely. He pulled back and tried to school his expression back to confidence, not the dopey smile he was sure had to be breaking through. “Was… that allowed?”

Henry leaned forward and kissed Sammy, lingering longer than the blond had.

Flushed with a heart full of helium, Sammy Lawrence tilted his head and unquestionably accepted that, yes, this _was_ allowed.

\


	36. Zéro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue.

**Epilogue.**

/

Today was a big day.

Freedom Day… and his and Henry’s anniversary. They both meant so much to Sammy. How had a year already flown by?

It probably helped to have such a wonderful man at his side. Thirty years ago, the musician wouldn’t have dreamed of the life he had now.

Right person, wrong time.

But first? Coffee. He hadn’t touched cigarettes in the year above ground but coffee would never not be missed… and Henry introducing him to the French press was a delight in and of itself! Such a change from the Moka pot.

Henry was always up first, usually with breakfast ready. Neither of them really did much for the first meal of the day, but there were times Henry went all-out. Cinnamon rolls were the delicious handiwork of the non-inky devil, and apparently he’d given Henry his personal recipe.

But this morning? No sizzle of eggs or scent of toast. Just a perfectly plain, white box sitting on the countertop.

“Morning.” Henry muttered before taking a sip of coffee. “Press is on the table.”

“Fantastic…” but he eyed the box carefully. New object, and Henry was playing mum. Okay then. He took his mug off the drying rack and went to fill it. The box loomed still, perfectly square. “So then, whatever is in that box.”

The cartoonist peered over his glasses. “You tell me.”

“You… don’t know what’s inside?”

“I do. I picked it up while you were sleeping. Place was open at six, got it by half past.”

That told the blond nothing. “You didn’t.”

“I did.”

Sammy squinted at the box. “It better not be what I think it is.”

Henry smirked. “What could it be?”

But the blond frowned at the innocent, white box and gave the top a pat before drawing back. When nothing happened, his scrutiny grew.

“Sammy, it’s not gonna bite you.”

“It might.”

“Trust me, it won’t.”

Blue eyes narrowed, and Sammy Lawrence braced himself for what lay inside. The lid lifted and- “Oh thank god.”

Henry laughed and set down his mug. “What?”

The blond scowled before cracking a smile himself.

“Sammy, what’d you think I was giving you?”

“I thought it was a kitten. Honestly worried you got a kitten.”

Henry grabbed the counter and let out a belly laugh. “D-do you like the cake?”

“Do I like the- yes!” He set the box down and grinned. “Calm down, little sheep.”

“You thought I got you a kitten?”

“Be glad I didn’t shake the box!” But he picked the pastry up and pushed up on the bottom, revealing a perfectly normal Brooklyn Blackout cake. Tilting his hand carefully he slid the six-inch round onto the flat top and smirked. “Is this breakfast?”

Henry had calmed considerably, blush seeping away from his cheeks. “Yep. When we hit that diner after we got out, I figured why not make it a tradition?”

“We hit the diner a week after the fact… but who am I to say no to chocolate cake.” Sammy set the flattened box aside and pulled open a drawer. He rummaged around the silverware drawer, pulling out forks and a serving knife with glee. “Grab the plates.”

Henry turned and grinned. “You’re gonna share?”

“Just this once.” His voice dropped to a threatening growl. “Tell no-one.”

“Deal.”

\

Breakfast flew by, sweet as life could be. But anniversaries didn’t stop work.

The musician had a good run of luck for up and coming companies, and this newest jingle was going to be a bouncy ear-worm indeed… if he could get it pinned down. Sammy spent most of his day at the piano, tinkering around with a jingle for some soap commercial he’d been contracted for. Simple, silly work, but it paid well enough. He didn’t expect awards for songs about soap, not like he’d supposedly won for his work with Sillyvision.

He didn’t need accolades to know his talent or worth.

But this silly little tune just… didn’t want to come to him. Not on the piano, at least. He left the piano in the den alone, and he headed to the attic. He wouldn’t be going for what he had in mind if he hadn’t been close to a deadline.

It wasn’t some barren place with spiders and ghosts, just a good place for storing things that only saw use now and again. He’d helped Henry clean it up and organize it, a task that took a weekend and a lot of pushing and shoving. The yard sale was a blast, though. The only reason they hadn’t turned the attic into a personal studio was the fact the piano was too… much. For Sammy’s thin limbs and Henry’s bad back.

But it meant Sammy couldn’t hide away in some dark corner of the house. Even if his interactions were limited to work and Henry, at least he interacted.

The blond headed for the funny thing on a hook by a window. The window that had been left half-open at some point in the past. Not a bad thing, the breeze was calm and the weather in Pasadena was bearable all year round. But the hook, not more than a jutting nail, held his banjo.

The banjo. The one he’d had… down there. A reminder too deep to throw away and too familiar to really, deeply hate.

Thin hands grasped the neck and pot, fixing the strap over his neck. It felt the same as it had in the studio… but it wasn’t the studio. It was an attic in Pasadena, California, with the studio’s skeleton far away on the opposite side of the country. Old bones and police tape. It was nothing...

Sammy shut his eyes. Worried his lip. Drummed his fingers in a waltz. Where was he? What could he hear? What could he-

Lawnmower down the street, droning on and on. A truck trundling along a block down. Birds having a fit in the oak sitting in the backyard. The screen door of the sun porch swinging open and shut- there was Henry, then. Done from taking care of the garden. They’d planted daffodils in the spring…

Sammy Lawrence was not in the studio. He never had been in the studio. It had been a year. Therapy check-ins with the feds therapist -nice lady, didn’t smile much- every other month helped he and Henry remember where they really were and how to get back to here when their minds went there.

The blond took a deep breath, and plucked the first string. Perfect G, good. Second, perfect B. Then a G, a B, and… a D flat.

“Hm. Not unexpected.” Feeling over the neck to the tuner peg, and tried it again.

There it went. Perfect D.

His hands never forgot the memory of the thin neck and tight pot, frets under fingertips and the strap hugging his neck and shoulder. He started slow, knowing the key he wanted and where he wanted to go… then he let himself play. The banjo felt like an odd memory in his grasp, but the notes held older thoughts, better ones, ones of ideas among drudgery, of calming others in the dark, of leading people to freedom-

He stopped, fingers crooked and ready. But he had the idea he needed! That was enough. “Fantastic.” He made to take the instrument from off his neck, and paused at the sound of clapping.

From the yard below, coming up from under the sun porch, Henry applauded him.

The blond chuckled and put the banjo back on its hook. He didn’t need accolades to know his talent or worth. But Henry clapping for him _never_ hurt.

Sammy clicked off the lights and shut the attic behind him. He’d go back to the banjo eventually, bring it back to him and keep it close at hand when the urge to play struck… but it was better on the hook. It couldn’t make him overthink if it sat up there in a room on a hook far from his piano and mind.

Maybe later. Maybe never. Who knew? Not him.

All he knew was the jingle would be done by sundown and lunch was likely left to himself.

/

Henry could not for the life of him figure out chopsticks. He’d have his egg foo young with a fork and his crab wantons with his fingers… and Sammy would scrutinize the hell of of his own food with the little, bamboo sticks and a sly remark here and there.

Chinese food was hard to beat, even if it took some convincing to get Sammy to try it at first. He wasn’t so much a picky eater as he was… wary.

Of the things Sammy seemed to struggle with, it wasn’t the changes in things such as phones and cars, but people. People different from himself. It wasn’t total malice, but fear, misunderstanding, his own projections of his own issues.

But the blond was willing to work on the problems he had to outgrow to better maneuver the changed world. Henry found food was a great motivator for the blond!

If he’d actually eat it. Chinese food was relatively a safe bet, even if Sammy stuck to one thing each time.

Henry didn’t ask why Sammy preferred sitting on the floor. There was plenty of room on the couch.

“Chicken-fried rice never fails.”

“You could try pork-fried if you’re feeling up for it?”

The blond stuck out his tongue. “I’m not going near pork.”

“Mm, same.”

“Same?” He grinned, poking at an egg roll with a stick. “You had a BLT when we got out.”

“And?”

A chuckle. “On a diet of bacon soup, you’d think bacon would lose it’s luster.”

“I’m not even sure that the bacon in the soup was actual bacon!”

“Could have been chopped up interns for all I know.” He bit the egg roll with a satisfying crunch.

Henry perked. “By the way, Buddy sent us a letter.”

“Did he?”

“It’s on the table. He sent a photo with him and Norman.” His smile grew soft. “They both look great.”

Sammy blinked. “We should send something back.”

“Our own letter and photo, you think?”

“I don’t see why not.” He chomped down the other half of the egg roll. “Have you-” He paused at his faux-pa and swallowed. “Have you had any luck with getting your Sunday strip back in circulation?”

“Uh… bad news is the old paper isn’t interested in renewal.”

“Their loss, my little sheep.”

Henry peered over his glasses and quirked a brow. “But there’s a larger paper that’s interested. I have a meeting on Friday. They want a color strip for the test run. It’s what I’ve been working on.”

The blond blinked. “That’s wonderful news. Why not tell me sooner?”

Henry shrugged and flipped over a patty of egg. “You were in the attic. Didn’t wanna interrupt the artistic flow.”

The blond from his spot on the floor reached up for Henry and wrapped thin fingers around his arm. “Never feel badly for interrupting me. You’re worth the pause.”

Henry felt his face warm. “I’ll try to remember.”

Sammy withdrew and went back to his dinner. “I’ll keep reminding you. You deserve my attention.”

“Jeez.” Taking a bite of the egg patty and rolling over how to put the question in his mind, Henry asked “Have you thought of writing back to Susie yet?”

“Mm. No.” Her letter, five pages filled with announcements and apologies packed into neat cursive, lay on the top of his piano a month after the fact. “Nothing to say.”

“I get it.”

“...maybe by Christmas I’ll have something nice to say.”

Henry smirked. “No rush.”

“Not for her, at least.” But he did know he’d have to say something eventually. But not now. Not today. Maybe never, but probably sooner than Christmas. “Did they give us fortune cookies this time?”

“They gave us extra.”

“Fantastic.”

\

Henry flipped through his collection of records, smirking at the man now sprawling on the couch. “You overdid it on the cake.”

“Half gone by lunch, the rest called out to me in a Chinese-food fueled stupor.” The blond rolled so his feet hit the floor. “But I did save you a piece.”

“That you did,” the cartoonist said, pausing at the record held under the pad of his finger. “Say, Sammy. How would you feel about a dance?”

“Nothing strenuous, little sheep.”

“I’ve got something here you might enjoy.”

Sammy stood and stretched, knuckles almost brushing the ceiling. “Put it on. I’m up for at least a waltz.” It wasn’t even nine at night! When had he gotten old enough to think that nine at night was late?

Henry pulled the record free and placed it on the turntable. Needle down, the soft, bright piano fell like rose petals from the speakers. He held out his hand. “Uh… can you lead?”

A snort. “He asks me to dance and to lead?” But his grin was soft and had no bite or blade. “How can I say no?”

The sound of a delighted trumpet floated in as strings and soft percussion joined to take over the tune.

Hands joined, Sammy took the two of them to spin with all the grace two men closing in on their sixties could give… which was enough.

“Don’t try to dip me, okay?”

“I didn’t plan to. I might drop you.”

Henry laughed and let himself be spun. “Fair enough.”

Sammy’s brows lifted at the tune when he finally caught it. “Oh. Louis Armstrong. Excellent choice.”

Henry’s smile grew. “You said you didn’t like brass, but it’s Louis Armstrong.”

Sammy squinted. “Who doesn’t like Louis Armstrong?”

_Hold me close and hold me fast_

_This magic spell you cast_

_This is la vie en rose_

Sammy’s laugh was more a hissing noise as he touched their foreheads together. “Today was wonderful.”

Henry shut his eyes. “Glad you think so.”

“Do you think so?”

“I do.” He pulled back from him and leaned his head back to give the slender man a kiss.

Sammy’s grip shifted from leading a waltz in the living room to holding his love still and silently asking for more.

The record played on, the trumpet closing out with a joy few things could claim to do better.

/

_Nothing_ beat the afterglow.

Not the warm, low notes of a cello or the setting sun against a rolling tide after a day at the beach. Nothing beat laying against Henry after sex. The rhythm of his pulse as it slowed, how stark the contrast of his skin and body hair were to the other, the low, soft sounds he made the further they went.

Henry was sensory heaven.

Sammy leaned back against Henry’s chest, boneless and content. He could feel the mans heartbeat against his back, and it lulled him even further. “Wonder what we’ll do next year?”

Henry shrugged, arms around Sammy’s middle. “I heard that Bertrum was working on a personal project out on the coast. He might like a visit.”

“Mm. So long as we do something for it. A day that needs commemorating.”

Henry smiled fondly. “I guess we could figure something out.” Henry blinked, his smile growing. “Did you have something in mind?”

“Well… you _did_ promise me a trip to Coney Island.”

“It’s worth the trip. Trust me… and you’re right, I did promise to take you.”

The thin man turned and kissed Henry’s temple. “Maybe get a private room on the train ride there?”

“You’ll have to win me something at a game booth.”

“Only if you get me a funnel cake.”

“Deal. We’ll plan it out tomorrow.”

“So soon?” How did he get so lucky? “That sounds fantastic.”

“Hell, why wait until next year? We can go in the off season. Cooler weather, less people?”

Sammy nestled his cheek against Henry’s shoulder. “Even better.”

The cartoonist pulled the musician in tighter and closed his eyes. “Goodnight, Sammy.”

The musician lay a thin hand over the cartoonist’s heart. “Goodnight, my little sheep.”

“...Sammy?”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

A chuckle, soft as the summer breeze. “I love you, too. Now, goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

And it _was_ a good night. And there would be so many more to come.

/

_Fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank you all for reading, commenting, and keyboardsmashing when things got good. Every hit, kudo, and comment made an uncertain time a lot easier for me to handle, and I hope this has done the same for all of you.
> 
> If you look back at some of the chapters, you'll find fanart linked below some of them, and let me just say they're all in a folder on my laptop so I can look back at them and remember that, yes... people like what I make, and I can make things people like. [My confidence was shot to hell for a while.]
> 
> Also! Just about everything I write has something to inspire it and give it a feel for what I want. When I heard this song an idea bloomed in my brain, even if it's about Oz and not BATIM... but give it a listen. :D
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qTMb2tyt-sQ
> 
> But, I'm gonna wrap this up. I don't know when more for this series will be posted, but I can say now that nothing is going to be NEARLY as big as this one... but I look forward to seeing you then.
> 
> So, until then? Thank you for reading. Goodnight.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Three Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25874098) by [Thren](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thren/pseuds/Thren)




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